


Invisible in the Sunny Spaces

by mdseiran



Category: Actor RPF, American Actor RPF, British Actor RPF, Real Person Fiction, The Hobbit RPF
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe - Superheroes/Superpowers, Community: hobbit_kink, Drama, F/M, Humor, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Past Character Death, Pining, Secret Identity, Sexy Makeover, Slow Build, Superheroes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-09
Updated: 2013-12-16
Packaged: 2017-12-31 23:44:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 34,870
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1037801
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mdseiran/pseuds/mdseiran
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The tale that begins with the fateful meeting between a man who failed at being a superhero, and a man who wasn't quite a damsel in distress. </p><p>Or as Lee likes to call it: the night Richard fucked up and let a total stranger pull off his mask.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [this prompt](http://hobbit-kink.livejournal.com/4307.html?thread=12939987#t12939987) from the Hobbit Kink Meme:
> 
>  _Richard is a superhero and Graham is his damsel in distress. Except Graham isn't a damsel and he usually saves_ Richard _more often than not._
> 
> Eternal thanks to my beta for all the hand-holding, encouragement and insistence that I keep going when it decided to turn into a 20k+ monster.
> 
>  **Important Note:** The focus of this fic is Richard and his relationships with Graham and Lee. Other characters and pairings do make appearances, but if you're looking for fic focused on the other people/couples I've listed as tags, I'm afraid this is not the fic you are looking for. 
> 
> Also, I respect all of these lovely people, but a few of them might come off as assholes in the course of this fic.

Graham has never been a fan of cliches, so when five shifty-looking figures suddenly block his movement every which way, the first thing he does is roll his eyes. 

"All right there, lads?" he asks calmly, keeping his hands visible. Three of them shift their stances -- experienced fighters, then. The other two seem like their bark is worse than their bite, and Graham keeps his focus on them. 

It's obviously not a matter of whether they will attack, but when. He decides not to insult their dubious intelligence by offering up his wallet.

May as well have a little fun, then.

"You're as repulsive as a monkey in a negligee." The one with the heavy gold bicycle chain around his neck snarls at him, and Graham bites back a smirk. He turns to the man with the large, black sunglasses and poorly-hidden knife strapped to his thigh. "How about you? Would you like to be buried, or cremated?"

They rush him almost at the same instance. Graham quickly tracks their movements, calculates their route and time of impact, and plans the four steps he'll need for these clowns to hit each other instead of him. He turns on the balls of his feet, dances lightly around the punch aimed at him by Mr. Neckchain, and hears a yelp from behind. He whirls around to find Mr. Sunglasses on his back on the dirty floor, with a garbage bin obscuring the upper half of his body. A groan indicates he's still alive, but Graham is more concerned with whatever seems to be grabbing the attention of his assailants.

At first he thinks it's another thug, come to help his friends out. The man is shabbily dressed, baggy clothes that scream 'gangster', only made worse by that thing he's wearing to cover his face. It looks like an overlarge sock, with two holes cut out because the fabric is too thick to see through. But Mr. Neckchain is sending him such a menacing glare, Graham can only deduce that this fake gangster is the tosser of the bin.

The other three are showing signs of preparing to enter the fray, so Graham grabs the tacky golden chain and tugs its wearer towards him. The air goes out of the man with a satisfying little choking sound, and he wraps his arm snugly around the neck in a chokehold. He watches the mysterious newcomer while his victim struggles. The three remaining men are circling him carefully, sometimes obscuring Graham's line of sight. Occasionally, he notices objects come flying towards the thugs. He wonders if the newcomer has companions somewhere. It surprises him a little that they won't reveal themselves to help their friend, however -- he's only dispatched one so far, and as Graham lets the man in his arms fall to the ground, one of the remaining three grabs his maybe-friend by the arm and twists it backwards. The other two are moving to his other side. Graham sighs and gets to work.

He leaves the masked man to deal with the monkey latched onto his arm, using their distraction to make quick work of the other two. _No finesse after all_ , he thinks mournfully. All they know of fighting is how to make people think they know shit about it. He lands a final right hook on number two's nose, and watches with satisfaction as he stays down.

A strangled sound reminds him that there used to be five goons once upon a time. The last idiot standing has the masked man in a chokehold, and Graham watches as the stranger tries and fails to land a headbutt that would loosen the hold. He's just about to step in himself when a fairly large brick comes flying out of nowhere, hitting both men in the head. Graham's would-be saviour stumbles, but his attacker goes down like a ton of bricks.

"Some friends you've got there," Graham mutters. The masked man shoots him a strange look then turns around -- no doubt searching for the rest of them, Graham thinks with a self-satisfied grin. That grin quickly fades when he sees the smear of red by the man's eye. He moves quickly, and the man turns around with a wild look but seems incapable of making a quick escape. Just as well; Graham really isn't in the mood for a chase.

"You're bleeding," he says, "let's take a look at that, shall we?" 

"Wait!" the man protests, but that doesn't stop him from pulling the stupid mask off.

He notices the eyes first. Clear blue, the sort a man could spend quite some time gazing into while imagining all sorts of things he really shouldn't be thinking about now, considering they only met five minutes ago. They look quite fearful at the moment, and he tries on a reassuring smile. "It doesn't look too serious," he comments, finger skimming gently along the wound. "One of your hidden friends should take you by the ER and get it looked at just in case, but I doubt you'll need stitches."

"I-- That won't be necessary, I'm fine." There's a husky quality to his voice that Graham likes instantly. The man keeps avoiding his gaze, staring at the floor, his hands, the wall, the unconscious bodies littering the street. His obvious discomfort makes Graham take a few steps back, but it doesn't seem to help much. He wonders if he's just shy, but considering he launched himself into a fight without so much as a hello or a by-your-leave, that doesn't seem likely. Perhaps a criminal then, Graham muses. That would explain the mask, and it's an idea that reinforces itself when the man jumps at the sound of sirens.

He casts one last look at Graham before taking off at a run, and Graham utters a curse. "You forgot your sock!" he yells, but the man either doesn't hear him or doesn't care. With a sigh, he stuffs the torn, bloody thing into his pocket and waits for the cops to arrive.

So much for relaxing tonight.

* * *

"And you just let him pull your mask off? Honestly, Richard." The line is punctuated by a heartfelt sigh, and Richard flushes a little and averts his eyes. "This'll sting," he's warned, and it does a little, but Lee has gentle hands and it only lasts a moment. "There, all patched up," he finally declares. Richard smiles his thanks. 

"Sorry for dropping in out of the blue."

Lee snorts softly, already busy cleaning up the small mess. "I'd be happier if you'd just drop by for a nightcap instead of needing medical attention. But," he continues as he heads towards the bathroom, "don't think I'm done with you yet. I still don't understand how they managed to get the better of you." 

Richard winces a little, because he's familiar with that particular tone of voice. While Lee busies himself with putting away his first aid kit, he quietly puts the kettle on. His head still feels out of sorts, and even though he's aching for a stiff drink, tea seems like a better option at the moment. Lee raises an eyebrow but doesn't say anything until they've settled down on his plush couch. 

"I know you remember the basic rules of survival, so what the hell happened?"

Richard sighs. "They were already surrounding him when I arrived. I didn't have much time to think of a stealthier approach." He takes a sip of the honey-sweetened chai, letting the warmth spread through his weary body. "And it's much harder to aim correctly with someone on your back."

Lee rolls his eyes. "That doesn't mean you aim for your _own_ head."

"It seemed like the best option at the time?" 

Lee sighs explosively, and Richard lowers his eyes with a mumbled apology. "Just be careful, okay? I'd rather not find you at my door with a serious injury next time." He lightly bumps their shoulders together with a quirk of his lips, and Richard warmly smiles back. "You should stay here tonight. I don't think you have a concussion, but better safe than sorry."

He thinks longingly of his own bed for a moment, but knows Lee is right. He does feel slightly off kilter, not that he'll admit it out loud. So he just nods gratefully and lets the warmth of his friend's smile wash over him. 

They sip their tea in silence for a few moments. Other aches are slowly making themselves known to him, and his body is sinking into that state where he's only vaguely aware that he's still conscious. It seems like too much effort to put his teacup down, and he could easily fall asleep in under five minutes. But then Lee says, "This is a good opportunity to get you a new outfit," and he jolts wide awake.

"Not this again." He places the half-empty cup back on the table and regards Lee with a small frown. "There's nothing wrong with it."

Lee rolls his eyes and mutters, "I beg to differ," under his breath. "You need a better mask anyway," he adds a little louder, aiming for a reasonable argument. "That mask was horrible, I'm almost glad you lost it."

Richard sighs. "That's a very tactful way of saying I fucked up."

"It's not that bad." Richard snorts, and Lee squeezes his shoulder. "Okay, okay, we don't know yet. But let's not jump to the worst case scenario right off the bat."

"The police must've questioned him, and it's not as if he has any reason to hide the truth from them."

"Yes, but you're not in the system," Lee points out. "It's really unlikely they'll find you, even with a physical description or a sketch. And if they do, you know what to say."

"I was with you the whole night." Richard dutifully repeats their well-rehearsed alibi. "We had a CSI marathon, you cooked pasta, and I spent the night on your couch after a little too much wine."

Lee grins wickedly. "More's the pity."

It's Richard's turn to give him a friendly shove. "Come off it, Pace. We both know it isn't me you're interested in." Lee smiles a little crookedly and pushes himself off the couch, leaning over to tousle Richard's hair and plant a kiss on top of his head.

"Stop worrying and get some rest. Omelet for breakfast?"

"You know anything is fine," Richard mumbles and lets himself slide down until he's horizontal, adjusting the blanket and sinking into the soft pillow with a soft sigh. "Night, Lee. Thank you."

He drifts off without hearing Lee's reply.

* * *

Pain spread through his shoulder and down to his arm as he stumbled backwards with a barely audible gasp. The thief's smirk was sharp, switchblade spinning between his fingers. Richard raised his right hand and tried to pull the knife towards him. The knife wobbled a little and the thief quickly adjusted his grip. Blood was rushing loudly through his head, his uneven breathing sounding loud in the silence of the alley.

The thief seemed to suddenly make a decision. He pointed the blade back at Richard and took a few steps forward, and Richard thought, _so much for being a hero_.

"I hope I'm not interrupting." The voice came from somewhere above them. Richard tried to look upwards and instead found himself falling back against the wall as his knees finally gave out. His arm felt cold except for where the blood was running down -- not a good sign, he was sure.

The thief had turned around as soon as the newcomer had spoken, but he hadn't figured out that it was coming from the roof. The man landed silently on the ground, a little to their side, and all Richard could do was stare.

The man must have noticed his wide eyes and gaping mouth, because he skimmed a hand slowly over his strap-clad torso with a wink. "Like what you see?"

The silver costume gleamed faintly in the dim light, the cape falling gracefully down his back. The trousers were tight and revealing, and his chest was uncovered except for two thick straps criss-crossing it, holding the cape in place. Long, silky blond hair was artfully arranged over his shoulders, and an exquisite mask that looked like it was made of spun silver obscured most of his face. 

Richard could only nod. "Your costume is amazing," he admitted, because what wasn't to like? The man seemed pleased by his compliment and his smile grew.

A snarl from the momentarily-forgotten thief interrupted whatever he meant to say, however, and the smile quickly became a frown. "Didn't your mom teach you not to interrupt when people are talking?" he asked with a wave of his hand.

"Listen here, you fucker," the thief began, and then surprisingly clamped his mouth shut.

"Much better," the other man said, obviously pleased. "Now, let's see. What was he doing, anyway, aside from giving you a hard time?"

Richard blinked and tried very hard to concentrate. "Tried to steal a woman's purse," he said, but it sounded slurred. He blinked, and suddenly the man was at his side, peering at his arm and tutting.

"This doesn't look good." A cool hand felt up his forehead. "You're a bit too warm for my liking."

His hand shifted until only the palm was pressed against Richard's forehead, the fingers spread over the top of his skull. At first, he felt nothing, but a sudden jolt of energy made him gasp. The man removed his hand with a pleased smile. "That's better. Now then," he said as he turned back towards the thief Richard had failed so miserably to apprehend, "what to do with you?" He sidled up to the criminal, skimming a finger beneath his chin. "I think you should really turn yourself in."

"'Course I will," the thief said, and Richard blinked, almost sure he'd misheard. But the thief handed his knife over to the other man and walked briskly out of the alley.

"Shouldn't we follow him?"

The man merely shrugged. "No need, he'll find his way there. Besides, we should take care of that wound now. It looks pretty nasty."

Conscious of the way he was still leaning against the dirty wall, Richard subtly tried to straighten his posture. "I'm fine, truly. Whatever you did helped. I'm sure I can take care of this myself."

"Don't be ridiculous." Richard frowned. "I live nearby and I have a very good first aid kit."

"I'd really rather--"

The man sighed. "Look, I could force you to come, but I'd prefer not to. Arm wounds are difficult to take care of by yourself, and besides," his eyes twinkled as he smiled, "I haven't seen you before, and I am dying to know what it is you can do." He held out his hand. "I'm Lee, by the way."

Richard glanced at the hand and back to the stranger with his warm smile. Tentatively, he offered his own. "Richard."

* * *

The greatest advantage of using Ian's studio as a base of operations is that nobody gives them a second look when they enter. Ian has models traipsing through at all hours of the day, in all states of dress, undress and weirdly dressed, and even though it felt wrong at the beginning, Richard quickly got used to just walking through the front door as if he belonged.

They stopped at a bakery beforehand, and when they walk in they're instantly surrounded.

"What did you get?" Martin asks while Aidan quickly divests them of the box. 

"Be careful with that!" Lee protests, but it falls on deaf ears. Richard shrugs off his coat and smiles his thanks when Martin reaches for it. A happy shout reaches his ears, and he can see Lee's small smile from the corner of his eyes.

"Didn't we have this three weeks ago as well?" James asks, but Lee just shrugs. Evangeline plants a kiss on his cheek, already halfway through a piece of tiramisu, and Lee jokingly makes a grab for her fork.

Her eyes instantly narrow. "You may be my favourite for buying this, but don't for a minute think that means you get to steal bites. Go get your own piece."

"Did you leave any for the rest of us?" Martin grumbles, heading over to peek into the box. Richard follows, eyes seeking out the tea set that's always at hand. He pours himself a cup of Ian's excellent earl grey, sighing a little at the first sip. They can keep their baked goods, he decides, as long as they leave him the tea.

"Are you quite done squabbling over desserts like little children?" Ian dryly asks. It has the desired effect of everyone finally settling down on the chairs and Ottomans scattered around the studio. Richard finds himself a chair out of the main circle they form by instinct, preferring to hide himself partially behind James. Lee shoots him an annoyed look from across the room, but Richard only hunches further in his seat and studiously sips his tea. "Shall we start with Aidan, then?"

The young man in question grins and puts his plate down in favour of picking up his rucksack. "I'm still working on the trackers, but I think I finally fixed the communicators," he begins, digging a slim, black case out of his bag. "It shouldn't cause any problems like it did last time."

Richard still remembers that incident. He hadn't used the communicator himself, but Martin hadn't been able to hear properly for days after the accident. He runs his thumb over the small gadget when one gets passed to him, and reluctantly puts it around his ear, half expecting it to blow up at any second. Instead, Aidan fiddles with a small device, and soft strings of classical music float to his ears. The sound is clear without being obnoxiously loud, and the studio is filled with appreciative murmurs. Aidan preens under the praise and turns the radio or whatever he's using to broadcast off again.

"It has a pretty long range, so we should be able to communicate without any trouble. There's a second piece," he holds up a wrist strap, "that contains a dialling pad. Our frequencies have been programmed already, in alphabetical order."

"Do I get four frequencies, then?" 

Aidan rolls his eyes. "You're just one person, Eva."

Evangeline pouts. Her hair suddenly becomes short and blond, eyes shifting from amber to blue, voice huskier and taking on an Australian accent. "What if someone is looking for me? I wouldn't want to let them down."

"I'm sure we can all live with the disappointment," Martin dryly remarks, and Evangeline turns back to normal before blowing him a raspberry.

"Dear Lord," Ian mutters, and Richard hides a grin behind his teacup. "Can we please move on before I expire of old age or, more likely, boredom? Any incidents we should know about?"

Lee raises his eyebrow expectantly. Richard pretends not to see, and tries very hard to become invisible (a power he unfortunately lacks). But he should have known Lee wouldn't let it go.

"Richard got made yesterday."

The studio falls entirely silent, and Richard finds himself the centre of attention.

"What happened?" James asks, turning sideways on his Ottoman to face him.

Richard squirms a little in his seat. "I came across five men accosting a civilian. I stepped in after the fight had already started and...my head got injured, after which the civilian pulled off my mask."

"Fucking hell," Martin mutters. "Did the cops get involved?"

"I left as soon as I heard sirens. I don't know what he told them. The mask must have some blood on it, though."

"Richard, think carefully before you answer this." Ian pauses, pale blue eyes piercing and all-knowing, and Richard's heart thuds loudly in his chest. "Did he see you use your powers?"

It's a question he's been thinking about since the encounter. It's one thing to be a normal man lending a hand. It might earn him a few interviews with the police officers, perhaps a fine of some sorts -- he doesn't really know. But being able to move items with mere thought is sure to land him on some scientist's table, where his head will be probed, prodded and cut into repeatedly until they find out what makes him tick.

Or so Lee claims. Richard tends to think he's seen one too many science fiction films.

"He said something about my friends not coming out to help me," he finally says. "I think he assumed someone else was throwing things around."

The sense of relief that floods the room is almost tangible. "That's something at least," Evangeline smiles. "Just knock the victim out first next time."

It causes loud laughter and serves to dissipate the lingering vestiges of tension. They briefly discuss the rising crime level in Martin's district, and the meeting quickly winds to a close. Richard excuses himself soon after, heading for the front door and, hopefully, finally, home.

He's shrugging into his coat when Lee taps him on the shoulder. "I know you're not going to let me give you a makeover," he says, and Richard snorts a little at the mere notion. "At least go pick out a new mask." He hands Richard a smart-looking business card. 

"Trusting me to make the choice on my own?"

Lee grins. "You're a big boy. Keep in mind though, if you end up choosing something ridiculous I'll be buying you a new one." Richard raises an eyebrow. "I'm supposed to meet Luke, or else I'd come."

"Going out or staying in?"

"Probably out. I don't know if I'll make it back tonight, so try not to get into any trouble, okay?" There's a hint of real worry beneath the teasing exterior, and Richard smiles warmly at his friend.

"I think I can manage that."

* * *

_Spoken too soon_ , he thinks wryly as he follows the shadowy figure through narrow alleys and across empty streets. The new mask feels scratchy against his skin, and he's suddenly glad he opted to go for the one only covering the top half of his head. He'd only just stepped out of the store when he heard a scream. He barely had time to duck into a dark corner to don the mask. As it was, he arrived to the sight of someone holding his hand over a woman's mouth, pressing her against a wall. 

He'd reacted by quickly aiming a small rock at his head. It had hit his mark, but the man had run off before he could do much else. And so he'd followed.

The man in front of him turns left and Richard rushes after him. He digs through his pockets, hoping to find something he can use as a projectile. His wallet, his cell, Aidan's new gadget -- nothing that would do enough damage to slow him down. He pats his left pocket, feeling something metal prod against his fingers.

His keys.

They would have to do.

He fumbles them out as he makes a sharp right. The man is already slipping around another corner and Richard speeds up. He makes the turn, spots the man straight ahead, and unleashes the keys.

They fly towards the back of his head in a straight line, and Richard watches with some satisfaction as they collide. The man lets out an agonized yell as he slams into the wall he'd been heading towards. His fingers cling to the bricks as Richard comes closer, and he manages to somehow claw his way around the corner. There's a muffled thud, a groan, and he comes tumbling backwards, falling arse first to the ground. 

The sound of footsteps stops Richard in his tracks. He turns, flattening himself against the wall and trying vainly to still the loud beating of his heart. The footsteps stop and the alley is quiet for a brief moment, until the silence is shattered by the soft tinkling of metal against metal.

 _I must have legendary bad luck_ , Richard thinks mournfully. He closes his eyes for a moment, considering his options. He could manipulate the keys out of this newcomer's grasp, send them somewhere safe until the coast is clear. _Never expose your power to anyone you can't see, because you won't know what danger lies on the other side,_ Ian's voice reminds him. Even months after hearing the rules for the first time, Richard can't get them out of his head during critical moments. He suspects Ian uses his oral hypnotic suggestion to make sure nobody ever forgets them, even though that breaks the second rule: _Don't use your powers on your allies._

Suppressing a sigh, he steps out of the shadows. 

The newcomer turns around at the sound, Richard's keys dangling from his fingers. He raises them in a sort of salute. "Did you drop something?"

Something nags at the back of his mind, something important that he's missing. He takes a few steps closer, alert for any signs of danger. The light in the alley is so dim he can only see vague shapes. He reaches out for the keys, steeling himself for a tug of war. But the man lets them go easily, and Richard draws back.

"Good throw, that." The man's white teeth gleam. "Do you play?"

It's such an odd question under the circumstances that Richard is left floundering. The man comes towards him, neatly stepping over the knocked out wrongdoer. His hand reaches into his pocket and Richard stiffens, but he doesn't draw a gun. He taps the item a few times until the screen lights up, illuminating his face.

The nagging becomes more like a punch, and Richard feels a right idiot for ignoring it.

He shakes the keys somewhat inanely. "Thanks for these. I'll just be going now." His feet are taking him backwards without him consciously deciding on anything, but once his brain catches up he decides they have rather the right idea. The only way to escape from this is by getting away from him as fast as he possibly can and, with that thought, he turns around.

Something snatches the back of his shirt, neatly preventing him from running off. "Not so fast," the man says. 

Richard grits his teeth and pulls away, using his mind to give the fabric an extra tug. It snaps out of the man's hand almost violently, and he quickly turns around. The man is watching him keenly, eyes narrowed suspiciously, but then he suddenly smiles. "I knew I recognized you from somewhere," he says, chuckling. "Is this a habit of yours?" Richard stands stock-still, wondering what to say to best extricate himself from the situation he's found himself in, when the man adds, smooth as anything, "Not that I mind running into you."

Richard blinks, opens his mouth and snaps it shut again. 

"I like your new mask." Richard touches the itchy cloth self-consciously. The man's eyes drift to his mouth and linger there, and Richard fights the urge to slap his hand over it.

He takes a step back. "I have to--" he begins, but stops abruptly when the stranger purposefully strides towards him. He retreats until his back hits the wall. The man stops in front of him and plants a hand next to his head. He leans in closer, crowding Richard and giving him a good look at his face. He looks-- normal, really, not at all like a mad stalker or someone Richard should be afraid of. There is some grey in his beard, but it makes him look dignified rather than old. The color of his eyes rather reminds Richard of shale, though they are less rock-like than his muscles, which are currently neatly preventing Richard's departure.

The man lifts a finger and, slowly, traces the bottom edge of the mask. "I always thought Antonio Banderas was rather dashing in that film."

Months of exposure to Lee has taught him a little bit about recognizing flirting when it's directed at him, but nothing at all about how to deal with it coming from someone he doesn't even know. The man seems to find his sudden discomfort amusing, if the widening grin is anything to go by. 

"I have no idea what you're talking about," Richard says helplessly, and the man chuckles. 

"So you wear his mask without knowing who Zorro is?" The finger stills on the bridge of his nose and starts to trace a part downward. Richard's heart is beating a mile a minute. He swallows nervously, and notices how the man tracks the movement of his throat and then his lips. He leans in, and Richard's mind instinctively pushes back.

It shouldn't work. He's tried to manipulate people before. He and Lee once wasted an entire afternoon where he tried to make Lee shift to the other side of the couch. He'd moved the couch more times than he can remember, along with the pillows and even Lee's shirt (just once, but it was very memorable). But Lee had never budged.

And yet, the man flies backwards as if punched, and crashes into the opposite wall with a loud thud and an even louder groan. Shock keeps Richard rooted in place. The man isn't moving, and for a few moments, Richard feels the weight of the world come crashing down on his shoulders. But then he hears a soft, obviously pained, "Fuck," and decides that since the man is obviously well enough to speak, this might be a good opportunity to run.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A couple of friends and I are offering up some fanworks on fandomaid to help the Philippines. If you're interested in either art or fic, please consider donating!
> 
> [Art (by himlayan)](http://fandomaid.livejournal.com/60677.html?thread=1658373#t1658373)   
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He avoids Lee's calls for the next few days, worried that his friend will detect some hint of what happened in his voice and expose him at the next meeting. The others think so little of him as it is -- he's only been part of the group for a few months, whereas they have all known each other for years, and on top of that (and he's honest enough to admit this), he isn't very good at being a superhero. He still remembers listening in awe to Martin's report on how he took down a serial killer during the third meeting he attended, and it quickly made him realize that, while they might accept him eventually, he would never live up to them.

They are the real superheroes. He's just a man who happens to be able to move objects with his mind. And, so it would seem, occasionally people.

He tried it again this morning during his ride to work. The woman sitting opposite him in the tube had fallen asleep and was slumped over, but try as he might he couldn't move her upright. He even felt a little guilty when she woke up with an obviously sore neck, as if he failed her somehow.

He starts to wonder if he just imagined it that night. Maybe he'd moved his arms, found some reserve of strength and pushed the man away by normal means. But he remembers the strength in those biceps and that hard chest. He's come a long way since Lee first took him under his wing, but even at the peak of his physical prowess, he'd never have the strength to push anyone that hard.

With a sigh, he abandons the rest of his lunch and fishes his phone out of his pocket. It only rings twice before Lee picks up. "I was just about to come find you," he says, and Richard can hear real anger in his voice. "I've been worried sick, where the hell have you been?"

Richard winces. "I may have done something stupid."

A loud sigh. "I'll pick you up from work and we'll talk."

"I'll bring dinner?" He offers tentatively.

Lee snorts softly. "Nothing healthy this time."

He hangs up after they settle on Chinese, and the mere thought of getting to talk it through with someone makes him feel considerably better. He maintains his newfound optimism through the next three manuscripts off the slush pile and even manages a smile for the exceptionally dour receptionist on his way out.

The Chinese restaurant Lee favours is a short walk from his office. It's already somewhat crowded, and it's a good ten minutes before he reaches the counter. He rattles off their usual order and steps a little to the side to wait. His fingers dance a little tune on the marble, but they lose their rhythm when someone jostles his arm. "Sorry," the man says, and Richard freezes.

He turns his head slowly, hoping against hope that his ears are deceiving him, to find a pair of shale-blue eyes smiling at him.

"No harm done," he manages to stammer out. The man's brow furrows a little and Richard mentally slaps himself for speaking at all.

"Here's your order, Mr. Armitage! That's one kung pao chicken wi--"

"Yes, thank you," he mumbles, snatches the bags, and rushes out of the restaurant as if it's on fire.

He doesn't slow down until he's three blocks away, having taken several out of the way turns just in case the man got it in his head to follow him. It's the insistent ringing of his phone that finally brings him to a stop. His hands are trembling when he reaches for it, and his "Hello?" sounds a little panicked.

"Richard?" He takes a deep breath and lets it out. "Are you okay?"

"I--" _Scared witless_. "I'm fine."

"I'm at Chopstix. Do you have our order yet?"

He looks around until he spots a street sign. "Yes, I actually walked a little bit. Can you make your way to Shire street? I'm near the bus stop."

There's a pause before Lee says, "I'll be there in three minutes. Do _not_ go anywhere."

He doesn't, but he does move a little until he's standing in a small alcove between buildings. He watches the road like a hawk, fearing the sudden appearance of a bald head with a greying beard. When he finally sees Lee's car, he rushes towards it like a man beset by demons. Lee gives him a strange look but doesn't linger to ask what's wrong, something Richard is very thankful for. He isn't sure he'll get through the conversation without a bottle of wine.

* * *

To Lee's credit, he doesn't start the dreaded discussion until he's made sure that Richard has consumed at least two glasses of wine and half his noodles. So when he finally asks, "Are you going to tell me what happened?" Richard feels much more capable of answering without sounding like a bloody idiot.

"I ran into that man from the alley again."

Lee slowly chews his chicken and rice while Richard stirs the sauce on his plate around. "Where?"

There's a short pause while he considers which answer will make Lee less likely to hit him. "At Chopstix, just now," he finally says. Lee puts his fork down with a little clang and Richard looks up to find those hazel eyes, wise beyond their years, boring straight into him.

"What aren't you saying?"

Richard lowers his gaze and tries not to fidget. "I may have run into him before that as well."

"Oh my God, Richard." There's exasperation and annoyance in Lee's voice, but his hand is gentle when he places it on Richard's arm. "Details. Don't you _dare_ leave anything out."

There's not much he can do but nod and tell Lee the whole tale. He doesn't even bother hiding the part where the man got hold of his keys, and only flushes furiously when he confesses to using his powers in front of and, to his surprise, on the stranger, even though that breaks the very first rule: Never, _ever_ expose your power in front of someone who knows what you look like. Lee stays silent throughout, his hands the only thing betraying his tension. Richard is fairly sure he will have a few nail marks on his arm by tomorrow, but it's a small price to pay, considering.

When he's finally done, Lee sits back with an explosive sigh. "Why can't you just be boring like the rest of us?" he asks. Richard barks out a laugh quite despite himself. Lee's lips quirk into a semblance of a smile, but it quickly fades as he turns pensive. "There really isn't much we can do about him at this point," he admits, albeit reluctantly. "He hasn't tried to harm you or anything, even helped you out. And maybe he didn't recognize you today."

Richard has his doubts about that. "I'll be more careful." He sighs. "And if I see him, I'll go away and leave him to it. He seems to handle himself better than I do, even without powers."

Lee frowns. "You do remember the last conversation we had about your self-deprecating bullshit, right?" Richard bites his lip. "Because you're this close," he holds up two fingers, barely a millimetre apart, "to breaking that rule, and then I won't be held accountable for what I'll do next."

"All right, calm down." Richard raises his hands in surrender, and picks up his half-empty glass once Lee stops glowering. "I'm actually more concerned about the other changes," he confesses, a little guiltily, because a civilian potentially knowing his face, name and secret should really be more of a problem than a glitch in his ability.

"I don't think I've heard anyone talk about a change in their powers before." Lee taps his fingers on the table. "I know Aidan mentioned once that he can't fly in a straight line when he has a cold, so it's possible that something in your body is somehow affecting your telekinesis."

Richard lifts his shoulder in a slight shrug. "I don't feel any different."

Lee purses his lips. "Guess it's time to do some research." At Richard's morose look, he reaches out to squeeze his hand. "I'm sure it's nothing to worry about, okay? Come on, I'll boot up the laptop."

When he was younger (and even when he wasn't so young), there were many times when he cursed his powers and wished for nothing more than to be rid of them. He wished for normalcy, to not be different from the rest of his peers. To fit in, to make friends, to not have to lower his head and rein in his fiery temperament, to quietly take the bullying occasionally directed at him from kids who thought him a freak because of his height or abnormally large nose, because if he snapped-- that didn't bear thinking about.

He spent years, decades, hating what he could do. And yet...

He looks at Lee's head, already bent over the keyboard, reading glasses sliding halfway down his nose. He thinks of the others; Martin, still saving the world despite being married with kids. Ian, old but no doubt the strongest of them all. Aidan, Evangeline, James -- people he hasn't known for long, who don't seem to think much of him or his abilities no matter how much Lee tries to deny it. But even so, even if he _is_ the weakest, and ends up needing help more than he offers it, they still make him feel like he belongs. One of them, no longer the only anomaly in the world.

Tension roils relentlessly in his gut, and he drains the last of his wine before moving to sit next to Lee. His mum always said it's better to know what to expect, be it bad or good, and accept it. But if this change in his abilities somehow means he's on his way to losing them completely...

That is not something he is willing to accept. Not anymore.

It is slow going. The Internet is full of rumours and information about superpowers, but as most of it pertains to fictional characters, neither of them feels inclined to trust it. Lee knows of two websites run by actual superheroes and even has a privileged account for one of them. His password gains them access to a truly impressive database, and it is here that they find their first real hint.

"'Powers can fluctuate due to changes in physique or hormones, depending on the power class'," Lee reads out. "He says powers that rely on body strength can grow stronger or weaker if you work out or stop training. And changes in hormones can cause sudden surges in the potency of your power."

"My power doesn't rely on physical strength or hormones," Richard points out.

Lee raises an eyebrow with a playful smirk. "Maybe you were just incredibly turned on by--" The rest of the sentence is swallowed by the pillow Richard throws at his head. Lee sputters in between bursts of laughter and quickly retaliates. They spend a few minutes tossing the couch cushion back and forth, until Lee somehow manages to land on Richard's back, hands threateningly pressing his head into the couch seat. "Do you capitulate?" he asks in a weird accent trying very hard to be posh British villain, and Richard can't stifle his grin.

"I surrender. Take me to your leader," he retorts mockingly. Lee gives him a final shove before moving back to his own side of the couch. His hands comb through his hair, tugging it back into some semblance of order. He glances at Richard, tuts, and runs his long fingers through the black strands once. Richard chuckles, and one of the many knots in his chest loosens.

"Where were we? Oh, right." Lee scrolls down the page, squinting at the screen. Richard pats the couch around them until he touches the metal rim of Lee's misplaced glasses, and pops them haphazardly on Lee's nose. Lee blinks, smiles, and murmurs, "That's better. Oh hey, look at this."

Richard leans forward to stare at the paragraph Lee is pointing at. _Some wielders have reported surges in their powers when facing a large threat. This seems to happen indiscriminately and is not limited to a specific power class. Sometimes it is a one-time occurrence, but other reports imply that the surge indicates a general increase in superpower strength. This increase occurs in small bursts over a period of time, and each burst can take up to two weeks to fully manifest and become controllable._

"Did you try it again after using it on your stalker?" Lee sounds as excited as a child with a new toy. Richard feels a little bad that he has to disappoint him. 

"I have, but it didn't work." 

The manic light in his eyes dims a little. "Well, it does say it can take two weeks," he says, maintaining a cheerfulness that only seems a little forced. "In the meantime, I think you should practice as much as you can. Maybe it'll make the whole process faster, and I'm sure you'll be able to control it better then." Richard groans a little, and Lee's smile turns into a smirk. "I'll expect you here every day at 7 p.m. then, yeah?"

"If I don't find any Chardonnay, I'm leaving."

"I'll keep the bar stocked."

* * *

The ringing of the phone jolts Richard out of his half-slumber. The dry, uninteresting manuscript seems blurry in front of him. He blinks and reaches out blindly for the phone. "Armitage," he mutters, wincing at the sluggishness of his own voice. The beginnings of a headache stab painfully behind his eyelids, and he tries in vain to rub them away. 

"Sir, there's a gentleman by the name of McTavish here to see you."

He frowns at the unfamiliar name. "Does he have an appointment?"

There is some indistinct murmuring before Miranda informs him, "He says he doesn't, but that it is urgent he speak with you right away."

His watch claims it is barely past noon. The slush pile stares at him accusingly, and all he really wants to do is find a quiet corner and take a nap. He sighs, bites his lip to keep it from turning into a yawn, and says, "Tell him to wait for me in the reception. I'll be there in a minute."

He grabs his wallet on his way out the door and takes the stairs down. The staircase leads directly to the reception area, but Richard doesn't see anyone there. He takes a few steps towards the counter, but Miranda points him towards the entrance. He turns and stays rooted to the spot.

The man -- McTavish, his mind supplies helpfully, running a mile a minute while the rest of him is just focused on breathing in and out -- is smiling at him, familiar blue eyes crinkling at the corners and looking deceptively harmless. He tries to think of his options; call security and try to explain why it is imperative that they throw this man out. Even if they were to follow his instructions, McTavish would, no doubt, simply wait for him to finish work and ambush him then. Running back to his office would lead to the same eventuality. He thinks about calling Lee for a second, but if McTavish truly is a threat, all that will do is put Lee in his cross hairs.

He straightens his shoulders and resolutely walks towards the doors. At least he has the court advantage, for all the good that does him.

"Mr. McTavish, I presume?" The man fairly grins, and holds out his hand for Richard to shake. He only hesitates a moment before taking it in a firm grip. McTavish doesn't bat an eye.

"Mr. Armitage. Thank you for meeting with me, even though I didn't have an appointment."

"Not at all." He withdraws his hand and fights the urge to cross his arms defensively. "What can I do for you?"

McTavish looks around the reception hall. "Could we take this somewhere more comfortable?"

 _Yes, somewhere quiet and private where you can do whatever it is you came to do without witnesses,_ Richard acidly thinks. With a polite smile, he suggests, "Perhaps the cafeteria? I was heading there for coffee, if you'd care to join me."

McTavish readily agrees and gestures for Richard to lead the way. They pass by the counter, and Miranda's disapproving but curious gaze follows them until they turn the corner.

They both stay silent until they've ordered their drinks and taken a table in the far corner. It's before the rush hour, but Richard knows it'll start filling up soon enough. He takes a sip of his black coffee and stares pointedly at McTavish. "If you have something to say, perhaps you could hurry. I have a lot of work to do, and the lunch crowd will be here soon."

"Are you always this prickly?" Richard frowns, which causes McTavish to grin. "I didn't have you pegged as the type to have a desk job."

His headache flares up along with his temper. "Look, McTavish, if you're just here to waste my time--" 

"It's Graham." Richard looks up. "'McTavish' reminds me of my days as a private. Especially," he smirks behind his Styrofoam cup, "when said in _that_ tone of voice. You sound just like my sergeant."

"I'd prefer not to call you anything. In fact, nothing would please me more than avoiding you in the future."

"I had a feeling you'd say something like that." There's nothing humorous about his expression now. It is perhaps the first time Richard has seen him look serious. "You've been acting like a skittish animal around me, and I think I know why. So I thought I'd come and tell you in person."

"Tell me what?" Richard asks guardedly.

"That you have nothing to fear from me." Richard inhales sharply, but Graham makes a gesture that stills his tongue. "I can understand why you might be concerned," he delicately elaborates, "but I'm not interested in betraying someone else's secret. No matter what that secret may be."

Richard turns the cup over and over in his hands, fingers nervously picking away at the edges. "And I should simply take your word for it? Forgive me if I'm a little sceptical about your intentions."

"I'd think much less of you if you weren't," Graham assures him. "But I didn't have to come here and tell you my name. I already knew yours."

A fair point, and one he's still rather sore about. He sighs and puts his shredded cup on the table. "I still don't understand why you came."

"To give you a peace offering." Graham pushes a nondescript box towards him. 

He gives the box a suspicious glance. Big enough for a bomb, or incendiary device, or GPS tracker. Graham bursts into laughter, and Richard shifts his glare to the infuriating man.

"I already know where you live, Richard." He subsides with a chuckle. "It really is just a gift. I'm sure you have your ways of making sure it comes without any strings attached."

For a moment, he thinks Graham _knows_ , knows about the rest of them, knows everything, and only the control Lee spent almost a year hammering into him stops him from casting Graham right through the closed window. He has the strange feeling his power would accommodate him, regardless of the utter failure his recent training has turned out to be. The realization that the man probably meant something more along the lines of a scanner enters his mind not a moment too soon. If Graham reads anything on his face, he doesn't let on, simply pushes his chair back and stands in front of Richard with his hands stuffed in his pockets.

"...Thank you," Richard mutters insincerely. 

Graham snorts and shakes his head a little. "I'll let you get back to work. Watch your steps, yeah?"

And with that last offensive statement (or warning? He can't tell anymore), he's gone, leaving Richard with a bludgeoning headache, a mysterious parcel, and a new story to tell Lee. He stands up, eyes lingering on the package still on the table. "Fuck it," he mutters. He sweeps it up and heads back towards his office, ruthlessly squashing all his misgivings.

Lee will probably never forgive him if he shows up without it, anyway.

* * *

The package is scanned and scrutinized until it starts to look bedraggled, but Lee (and Aidan's toys, currently undergoing beta testing at Lee's hands) ultimately declares it safe to open. Still, he feels surprisingly nervous when he cuts through the tape holding the lid closed. He lifts it slowly and places it aside. The box is filled to the brim with light blue paper shreds. 

He lifts a handful to place it aside. Lee rolls his eyes. "For fuck's sake!" He plunges his hand within the box, apparently not at all worried that something might cut it off (Aidan's gadgets notwithstanding), and crows triumphantly. "Got it. Hmm, feels solid."

"Just pull it out already." It comes out a little sharper than intended. The apology waiting at the tip of his tongue disintegrates when Lee pulls the peace offering out of the obscuring packaging.

He puts it on the table, and they stare at it in silence. Richard tentatively places a finger along the metallic trim, tracing the elegant curves of the black mask.

"I've got to hand it to him, the man has great taste." Lee sounds about as dazed as Richard feels. He lets himself sink back against the couch and closes his eyes as he lets out a deep sigh. Fingers gently stroke his temple and he leans into the touch. 

"This is starting to feel like some...surreal dream I can't seem to wake up from," he mutters. 

Lee makes a sympathetic noise. "He doesn't seem to have bad intentions, at least."

"We don't know that yet. Maybe the mask'll explode the minute I wear it." Under his breath, he adds, "Put me out of my misery at least."

The whack delivered to the back of his head is expected, but doesn't ache any less for it. "You watched me scan it, there's nothing wrong with it." Lee leans forward and snatches the mask by its edge. "Come on, try it on," he eagerly insists.

Richard takes it but eyes it dubiously. "It's so..."

"Gorgeous? Elegant? Exquisitely made?"

He makes a face. "I was going to say flashy, actually."

Lee snorts. "I'll never understand your aversion to looking like an actual superhero rather than a street bum. I'm tempted to send this Graham a thank-you note for finally doing what I've been trying to do for months."

"I never said I'd actually _wear_ it," Richard points out. Lee just looks at him, and, with a put-upon frown, he lifts the mask to his face and sets to tying the leather straps.

"Jesus. Don't move, I'll get a mirror."

The mask feels strange against his skin. He's used to soft, cloth masks that cover most of his face as well as his hair. He feels naked beneath this, exposed and undisguised. But the stiff leather moulds to his features as if made for them, and the absence of that itchy feeling that came with his other mask is a relief. It feels cooler as well, and might actually offer him a little more protection against wayward projectiles.

Not that he's wearing it.

A large mirror is placed firmly on his lap, forcing him to confront his own reflection. The mask covers from his forehead to his nose completely. Two curved triangles extend from the shape, one on each side. One tilts towards the top of his head, while the point of the other trails down to the corner of his lips. The leather is completely edged in metal, complemented by the decorative branches curling around the eyes. He blinks, fingers lifting to brush absently through his hair, tugging it away from the triangle extending above his right eye. 

"It does look nice," he finally admits, reluctantly, and Lee beams at him. "I'll still need something to cover my head."

"Richard." Lee removes the mirror and shoots him a sharp glare. "If you wear anything else on your head, I will fucking burn it off. Nobody will recognize you, I promise."

"With one strand of my hair--"

"They'd still find nothing because I bet you've never even had a speeding ticket." 

Richard subsides and unties the straps holding the mask in place. He carefully puts it back in the box, taking some satisfaction in the messy pile of carton left on Lee's otherwise pristine coffee table. 

The ringing of the intercom interrupts him before he can ask about tonight's schedule. Lee mutters under his breath and quickly moves towards the alcove beside the door that hosts his security setup. "It's Luke. Shit, he didn't say he'd be by today." He buzzes Luke through, and Richard gets to his feet and grabs his discarded coat and box.

"It's fine. I wouldn't mind a night off, anyway." The doorbell sounds, and Lee opens it with a small frown marring his expression. It clears away when Luke steps in and wraps an arm around his waist. "Hello, handsome," he says, following it up with a (very sound) kiss. Lee clings to his shoulders for a moment, and a part of Richard he has long suppressed aches just a little.

He puts his hand on the doorknob. "I'll leave you two to it," he says, smiling at the pair as Lee pulls away. "Good to see you again."

"You too." Luke's smile doesn't reach his eyes, and Richard quickly makes his exit before the awkwardness can truly set in.

"Don't forget our session tomorrow!" Lee calls after him before the door closes and shuts out whatever else he may have said.

Thoughts randomly chase through his mind during the walk to his apartment, each clamouring for his undivided attention. His world used to be so orderly, considering how abnormal it really is. Graham McTavish has sent everything spinning in the wrong direction, and Richard doesn't quite know what to do about it. He feels unsettled by the attention, as well as confused by it. But most of all, he's irritated at the small part of him that can't help but wonder when he'll run into Graham again.

* * *

The next few days are surprisingly uneventful. Lee gives him a little more leeway with their training sessions, something Richard is grateful for, even though he suspects it has more to do with Lee wanting to spend time with Luke than any actual mercy on his part. But it means he has more time for the nightly wanderings he's been neglecting the past week. He takes them up again with relish, and each mischief maker or criminal he stops makes him feel a little taller.

He doesn't run into Graham.

He half expects Lee to tell the rest of the group everything at their next gathering, but Lee doesn't even give him any nonverbal cues. He broods over it the rest of the meeting, and pulls Lee aside as soon as they leave Ian's studio.

"Not that I don't appreciate it," he begins, "but I thought keeping something like this a secret was against the rules?"

Lee gives him a searching look. "You have enough to deal with at the moment," is the only explanation he gives. "You can tell them when the time's right."

 _And when is that_ , Richard wants to ask, but Lee's already tugging on his arm. "I actually need to talk to you, but Luke's waiting for me at my place so let's go to yours for a bit."

Richard carefully masks his surprise. "Did you give him a key?"

A snort. "No, we haven't reached that stage yet. But he spent the night yesterday and wanted to grab dinner today, so." Lee shrugs. "It's not as if I have anything there he shouldn't see."

"What, are Aidan's inventions considered standard for-- what is it you claim to be? A life coach, right?"

"No, Richard." Lee's long-suffering sigh makes Richard bite back a grin. "That's what I have a safe for. Luke may be good with numbers, but I don't think he's smart enough to crack all the security Aidan put on that thing."

He bumps Lee's shoulder good-naturedly, and they walk in companionable silence for a moment. Richard chews on it for a while before carefully asking, "Did my being there last week cause any trouble?"

"What, you mean with Luke?" Lee's confusion seems genuine.

"I thought he might've been...unhappy to run into me. Again."

"I don't see what you're--" An incredulous snort of laughter interrupts the flow of words. "What, you're worried he got jealous? Luke isn't the type."

"Not the type to get jealous when other people visit you at odd hours, sometimes even in the middle of the night," Richard says sceptically.

Lee just shrugs. "He really isn't, though. He thinks it's part of my job and just accepts it. It's nice, actually, not dealing with any macho crap."

"It doesn't bother you? That you have to lie to him?"

"You know, I thought it would, at first." Lee bites his lower lip. "But then I think of the alternative, and really," his laugh is bitter, "I've had enough of people wanting me for my inheritance to last a lifetime. Not to mention all the things that can go wrong if he finds out about my other talents. It's just better this way. He has his life, and I have mine."

It sounds entirely too clinical, too logical to Richard's ears -- as if two people signed a mutually beneficial contract and are following the stipulations to the letter. So unlike the Lee he knows; the spontaneous man who so easily gives of himself without expecting anything in return. He's only been dating Luke for a few months, however, and Richard knows that decision hadn't come easy. Maybe Lee just needs time to truly let go.

He swallows his misgivings and ushers them both into his small apartment. "Tea?" he offers, dumping his keys in the little bowl by the door.

Lee shakes his head. "I won't stay long. Here." He holds out a slip of paper. "Graham's contact information. I think you should call him."

Richard looks at the note as if it's a living snake. "What? Why on earth would I do that?"

"I've had him checked into, and on the surface he seems like a solid guy. Ex-military, he was being honest about that part. Works as a personal trainer now, and has a pretty high-profile clients list. But just to be safe," Lee waves the sheet at Richard, "I think you should let him know that you can get to _him_ , too."

* * *

He spends the rest of the day pondering Lee's words. He picks up his phone a hundred times, finds the courage to dial the first few numbers after the first thirty, but always lets it fall back to his lap, defeated. Lee's handwriting stares at him accusingly, so he turns the paper over on the table, and puts his phone on top it for good measure.

Cooking dinner provides a brief distraction, as do the rest of the chores he's been ignoring all week. He does his laundry, cleans the bathroom, checks his fridge to make a new shopping list, and mentally kicks himself whenever his eyes begin to stray. But he runs out of things to do before sundown, and the note hasn't magically disappeared.

His costume hangs behind his closet. He quickly slips it on and grabs a dark overcoat for good measure, hesitating for a moment before grabbing his new mask and tucking it in one of the spacious pockets. Bike keys from his chest of drawers, phone and seemingly innocuous sheet of paper, flat keys, and he flees before the final vestiges of his sudden burst of courage completely desert him.

His bike is parked two blocks away, and he manages to reach it despite the anxious churning in his stomach. He revs the engine twice, takes a deep breath, and heads towards his destination.

He's always been better at having difficult conversations in person. Phones just make everything even more awkward in his experience.

The drive to Graham's address takes fifteen minutes, with traffic; not nearly far enough for comfort. He carefully parks some distance away and takes a short tour around the neighbourhood. Accessible roofs; good. Buildings sitting close together, making for an easy escape route should the need arise. He straps on the communicator, dons his mask and carefully makes his way up.

Graham's flat is on the fifth floor. At first, it seems like nobody's home. The front side is completely dark, but when he crosses the roof of the adjacent building, he can see a faint light coming from one of the bedrooms. He judges the distance carefully and takes several steps back. He stops, bends his knees a little, then sprints towards the edge and launches himself towards one of the many balconies dotting the back side of the building. He latches on with both hands and swings himself over, landing in a soft crouch that would have made Lee proud. He stills and listens, but nobody screams at his sudden appearance. 

A promising start.

It's an easy route from there, slipping from one balcony to the next. The building is only eight stories. He makes his descent to Graham's balcony as quietly as possible and settles on the balustrade, catching his breath. The glass door is closed but not locked. The flimsy curtains allow him to peek into what seems to be a home office, and he quickly locates his target. He puts his feet firmly on the floor and, with his mind reciting a grocery list of reasons why this is a Really Bad Idea, pushes down on the handle.


	3. Chapter 3

The first clue that someone else is here comes in the form of a light breeze hitting his bare arm. He continues typing on the keyboard as if nothing is wrong and listens for the soft sound of footsteps. One beat, another, and he spins in his chair, grabbing an arm in one hand and pulling its owner down sharply to the floor.

Blue eyes blink up at him.

"It suits you." He grins down at Richard as he levers himself up. Richard takes his proffered hand, and spends some time brushing dust, imaginary and otherwise, from his ill-fitting clothes. To be fair, Graham thinks with some amusement, if he'd flubbed an entrance like that, he'd feel pretty awkward too.

"Sorry, I--" Richard clears his throat, starts again. "I didn't mean to interrupt your work. I'll just-- leave."

Graham shrugs. "Wasn't anything that can't wait. Drink?"

The ensuing hesitation speaks volumes, and Graham turns up his smile a notch. "You came all the way here, you might stay at least a few minutes."

Richard nods at the empty beer bottle on his desk. "One of those, then?"

"No heavy drinking on the job, eh? Come on then, kitchen's down the hall."

He catches the curious glances as Richard follows him through the flat. The other man pauses in front of a particular pair of paintings, and Graham leans against the wall and watches him.

The Earth and Air Elementals. He's rather fond of those, and the fact that they grabbed Richard's attention pleases him absurdly. The two female elementals face each other, their hair formed of roots and scales, feathers and wings, the natural shapes blending seamlessly with their facial features. There's something soothing and peaceful about them, and he'd picked them up on a whim after seeing them in a small shop one day.

"These are beautiful." Richard's hand comes up, fingertips barely brushing over the canvas. "A local?"

"Italian artist." 

They linger a bit longer, and when Richard finally turns away from the wall, he seems more composed. Graham grabs two cold bottles from his fridge and hands one over after uncapping them. He takes a long, hard look at Richard as the man raises the bottle, taking everything in. He dismisses the first three comments to pop into his mind (too much prying), deliberates over whether the next six would make him run for the nearest window (too flirtatious, so probably), and finally settles on, "Did you have a difficult time tracking me down?"

"Not really." The answer sounds just the slightest bit flustered. Graham bites down on a grin -- didn't go looking himself, then. "I actually came by to..."

"Yes?" he prods after the silence stretches.

"To thank you," Richard finally blurts out. "For the mask, I mean. You didn't have to do that."

"Well, I did take yours from you. Felt only right to replace it. And don't take this the wrong way, but," he steps closer, and watches Richard's eyes widen, "Zorro? Not really your style."

Richard huffs a laugh. "I've been told I have no style to speak of." Graham keeps his agreement to himself. "I'd actually appreciate it if you could give it back?"

"I don't have it anymore." Richard visibly stiffens. "I burnt it," Graham elaborates. "It had traces of blood. Just didn't seem wise to leave it lying about."

"Oh, right." Tense shoulders relax into a slump. "Thank you. Again."

"You're welcome," Graham replies solemnly. 

Richard rolls the beer bottle between his palms a few times before taking another sip. "I should go," he murmurs. 

It's in Graham to protest. His curiosity has been steadily increasing over the weeks, and every meeting between them only adds to his already long list of questions. But Richard still seems skittish, just as liable to run at the first question than actually answer it. And that, he reflects, would truly be a pity.

"Would it be all right if I called you?" he asks. "We could grab lunch sometime. Chopstix, maybe, since we both already know where that is."

"Why?"

He seems genuinely bewildered. Graham only shrugs. "You seem like you'd be interesting to talk to," he truthfully says. "Besides," his lips quirk, "we keep running into each other anyway. It's almost like fate is trying to tell us we'd make good friends."

Richard bites his lips, hesitates. _Or more than friends_ , he thinks. _Definitely wouldn't be opposed._

The quiet, "All right," feels like winning a battle. The smile stays on Graham's face long after he lets Richard out (still through the window instead of the door -- maybe he's fond of rooftops). He finishes the rest of his beer on the balcony, wondering with some amusement whether Richard will insist on wearing his mask every time they meet. 

Might be a bit awkward at Chopstix, though.

* * *

_Hiding that under a baggy costume is a damn shame._ "Hiding that under a baggy costume is a damn shame," he says. Richard flushes dark red, and it's entirely too becoming. "I don't understand how you can move around in that monstrosity. Doesn't it get caught on things?"

"I'm careful," Richard mutters, a little petulantly. "I don't see the point of standing out. How will different clothes help me accomplish what I set out to do?"

Graham slowly takes a sip of his water. Richard's shoulders sink in on themselves a bit more the longer he lets the silence drag on. "You know, the first time I saw you I almost mistook you for just another criminal. How many of the people you save end up running away from you?"

His eyes turn the most interesting colour when he's angry. The heated glare sends a long-missed thrill down Graham's spine. "I don't do it for recognition or gratitude."

"Maybe you should." He holds up a hand to forestall the biting comment he can almost see jumping on the tip of Richard's tongue. "Do you know what makes Firecracker so effective?"

There's a long pause. Finally, Richard says, "He has complete control over his powers, and knows how to effectively diffuse any situation."

Graham snorts. "Clever, but you're overthinking it." Richard bristles. "By all rights, people should be bloody well terrified of Firecracker. Someone who can start fires with a snap of his fingers doesn't sound like someone I'd invite to tea, let alone trust with anyone's safety."

"But everyone trusts Firecracker," Richard says, confused. 

"Yes, but think about this." Graham leans forward. "Do you think they still would if he went about dressed in black trousers, a sweater, and a ski mask with holes for eyes? It may not matter to you, but perception is everything, Richard."

Richard sighs and slumps in his chair. His long legs extend far beyond his half of the small table, knees bumping lightly into Graham's thighs. "I hardly think it'll matter one way or another. In case you haven't noticed," he raises an eyebrow, "there is more than just Lycra setting me apart from the likes of Firecracker."

"You're right." Graham lets his lips slowly curve into a smile. "You're far more attractive than he is." Blue eyes widen. "And quite a bit taller, I should think. I like that in a man."

The waiter's interruption is timely, since Richard's face looks so red, Graham is a little worried it might explode (he's a superhero, after all; anything is possible). They busy themselves for a moment sorting out their many side dishes. Graham takes a surreptitious sniff and catches a soft sound. He grins at Richard, who looks like he's trying hard not to laugh. "Smelling is part of the experience. What's the point of eating if you can't satisfy all your senses?"

Richard lifts a forkful of vegetables to his mouth. "Some people can be perfectly satisfied with just eating," he retorts, not bothering to hide his grin anymore. "You're acting as if this is haute cuisine."

"Spoken like someone who has never tried army food." Graham chews slowly on his shrimp, savouring the slight tinge of chilli pepper, and smirks as Richard makes a face.

"How long did you spend in the army?"

"About nine years. I was young when I joined, had all these romantic fantasies about seeing the world." He shrugs. "I did, and it was an educational experience. But it comes with its own set of pressures, and I eventually decided I'd had enough adventure."

He can tell that Richard has more questions he wants to ask, but something seems to be making him hesitate. Graham has his own list of things he'd like to know. Instead, he says, "Go on, ask." Richard's eyes register surprise. "If you ask me anything I don't want to answer, I'll say so."

The other man toys idly with his water. "I don't want to dredge up any bad memories," he says. There is respect in his voice, and genuine appreciation for the sensitivity of the topic. It makes Graham smile a little.

"Richard, ask."

"Did you see a lot of combat?"

He shrugs. "Some. The areas I was stationed in didn't cause a lot of trouble, so I got lucky." He pops a piece of spring roll into his mouth and lifts his eyebrows expectantly.

"So it isn't the fighting that led you to quit." A statement, not a question. Graham grins; Richard is obviously getting bolder.

"I never had an issue with combat like some other soldiers do. I wasn't part of any large strikes, and we had a spotless record when it came to civilians."

Richard tilts his head a little. "I find it hard to believe you quit out of boredom," he muses. Graham just smiles and waits. "An injury, then?"

He shakes his head. "Left fitter than I went in. You're right, though."

"About?"

"I left the army for a reason."

Richard waits for a few beats. Then: "You're not going to tell me what it was, are you."

There's a hint of amusement in his voice, and Graham lifts his glass of water in a cheeky salute. Richard snorts softly and shakes his head a little.

"What made you decide to become a fitness trainer?"

"It's something I'm good at." He points his knife at Richard. "Why did you get a job in publishing?"

A soft smile graces his lips. It transforms his face, softening the lines of his forehead, blue eyes resembling the sky on a clear, sunny day. "I've always loved books. The way a few lines can transport you somewhere else entirely, make you believe things you never thought possible."

Graham can easily imagine a younger Richard, at university perhaps, with his nose always stuck in a book while his peers restlessly move around him, living life rather than reading about it. He can sense that his new friend never quite got rid of that loneliness, the idea of being so different that he will never belong with the rest of humanity.

It strikes him as melancholy. Fitting in is incredibly overrated, in his not-so-humble opinion. The people who stand out are the ones who can actually make a difference.

On a whim, he asks, "Do you write?"

The barest hint of a blush stains Richard's cheekbones. "I've never published anything, no."

"That's not what I asked," Graham points out. "Have you ever tried getting published?"

"God no." Richard pulls a face. "I'm fully aware of how the publishing world operates. I wouldn't get past the slush pile."

"That sounds...vile."

Richard snickers softly. "It's what we call the manuscripts that get sent in. At least ninety percent of what I end up reading isn't worth pursuing."

"You could always self-publish. That's pretty popular at the moment, isn't it?"

"I'm not one of those people who feels this insatiable urge to share a part of themselves with the rest of the world."

An image of Richard as Graham first saw him flits through his mind -- putting himself recklessly in danger for others. It adds a bitter taste to his meal.

Richard's soul and heart may be off-limits, but everything else seems to be up for grabs.

* * *

The thrill of anticipation and the excited fluttering in his stomach is something Graham hasn't felt in years, not since childhood and nights spent anxiously anticipating Santa's imminent arrival. ("Go to sleep, love. Santa's shy and won't come if he sees you waiting.") And yet, despite his (relative) maturity, he paces his apartment nervously, checking his watch every few minutes. 

He's _late_.

The doorbell finally rings eighteen minutes later. He forces himself to keep a sedate pace when he goes to answer it, but he does drag Richard into the apartment before the man can even get out a 'hello'.

"Is there a fire?" Richard asks, bemused. His hair is wind-tousled, face flushed from the chill, but his hands are surprisingly warm. Graham tightens his grip and pulls him further inside.

"You're late," he reproaches.

"Accident on the way here. What are we-- oh."

Graham carefully watches Richard's face. He seems to be shocked for the most part, and Graham bulls forward before that changes to absolute refusal.

"I'm not letting you say no until you try it on, at least."

"Graham," Richard protests weakly, but Graham just folds his arms and puts on his best I-don't-give-a-fuck-what-you-want expression. It seems to work, because Richard sighs and shrugs off his coat. "I'm not getting changed here."

"And I was so looking forward to the show," Graham teases. Richard just rolls his eyes, grabs the hanger and makes his way to the bathroom.

More pacing ensues. The walls in his apartment are soundproof, so he can't even hear anything. His mind paints in a couple of colourful phrases (as well as a very pretty, very naked picture), but Richard doesn't look the least bit annoyed when he finally emerges.

What he does look, is magnificent. Graham gives himself a mental pat on the back as he drinks in the sight.

The outfit is form-fitting in all the right places. The trousers and shirt are sleek and black. There are silver grey bands at the shirt cuffs, complimented by the thin silver lines accentuating the shoulders, back and sinfully-long legs. The black boots he found are almost a perfect match due to the metallic sheen on the foot. They meld into the knee guards so well, it almost looks like a single piece. He lets his gaze trail a little further up, and bites back a smirk. The protective codpiece he got on a whim goes completely unnoticed, unless you know what to look for, and the black utility belt with all the extra pockets delightfully frames Richard's hips.

"Oh yes," he fairly purrs, "this is much better."

"It's...a little tight, isn't it?"

"You should be glad it isn't Lycra," he teases. "Turn around?" Richard does so, albeit reluctantly, and thankfully can't see the way Graham ogles his back.

The way his arse looks in those trousers should be illegal.

Richard doesn't wait for Graham to look his fill. He turns back around and folds his arms self-consciously over his chest and, unable to suppress it, Graham gives him a little leer. There's the expected blush, but also something else that flashes briefly through those expressive eyes, something Graham hasn't seen from him before.

Intrigued, he takes a step towards Richard. The man straightens suddenly, eyes narrowed, but Graham doesn't get the feeling Richard is frowning at him.

Sure enough, Richard lifts his left arm and pulls the sleeve up to reveal something strapped to his wrist. He taps it a few times with his fingers. "Heard," he says. "Am nearby, will assist. ETA five minutes."

Clearly an earpiece, but one he's never noticed. 

Richard turns to him with a half-smile. "I'm sorry, I have to go."

"I gathered as much." He smiles back. "I'm just disappointed I won't get to see your first adventure in your new outfit."

"I don't suppose I have time to change out of it," Richard grimaces.

"Good." Graham smirks. "Go on, you don't want to be late."

His things are quickly gathered, and Richard already has a hand on the doorknob when he turns around and says, "Graham, I just--" He pauses a moment, then smiles, bright and easy. "Thanks."

His heart skips a few beats. "You're most welcome."

* * *

It almost feels like he can run faster, as if the extra fabric needed to make his clothes looser was somehow slowing him down. It's a strange sensation, but not an unpleasant one. He sprints swiftly down the streets and alleys and manages to reach the rendezvous before the promised time. He spots Adam easily, and makes his presence known by letting loose a barrage of small marbles.

This first volley disables two of the remaining three assailants, and Adam finishes the last one off with a roundhouse kick. He stands before the groaning men with his hands placed on his hips, expression firmly disapproving. "Serves you right for deceiving a poor, innocent young man."

Richard grabs a few industrial-strength zip ties from his small string bag. Adam calmly delivers impressive face punches to the others when it looks like they're about to get back up, and between the two of them they quickly get them all ready for deliverance into police custody.

"Thanks, Richard." Adam smiles warmly and looks up at him. He blinks and does a double take. "What the hell?"

Young, boyish features quickly morph back into the face he is more familiar with. Evangeline taps a finger against his mask, and trails it all the way down to his torso with a smirk. He fights the urge to squirm, knowing it will only egg her on.

"I'm impressed," she says, voice taking on a seductive tone. "You've been holding out on us."

"I haven't, really," he mumbles, then quickly adds, "Should I phone the police?"

She grins wolfishly. "Don't change the subject. You were always so against any sort of makeover when we brought it up. I can't wait to hear what changed your mind."

If he thought for a moment that not replying would make her drop the subject, she quickly disabuses him of that notion. "Speaking from experience, people only dress up when they're looking to impress someone." She steps around him and he quickly turns with her, just in time to swat her hand away. She only snickers. "Who is it then? Wait, don't tell me." She crosses her arms and peers at him until he starts to fidget. Her face brightens. "Ooh, is it Lee? Did you guys finally hook up? I know he's been nagging you to let him dress you forever."

Richard just stares, beyond baffled. _She can't seriously be this blind_ , he thinks a little hysterically. "We're not together," he says, and she frowns.

"How long are you going to keep him waiting? For fuck's sake, Richard."

"Evangeline..." He sighs, pinches the bridge of his nose. "Not that this concerns you, but Lee isn't remotely interested in me."

"He hangs out with you more than he does with the rest of us these days," she argues.

"We're just good friends, that's all." He hesitates, then boldly adds, "He's interested in someone else."

"Oh." She purses her lips. "Not this Luke, right?"

The ease with which she dismisses Lee's current boyfriend angers Richard. "Luke is nice. Perhaps you should get to know him before jumping to conclusions."

"Luke is boring." Evangeline waves her hand dismissively. "Lee can do much better."

Richard stares at the young woman with the appalling taste in paramours (five different people last month alone!) and thinks, _Yes, yes he can._

* * *

The first meeting he attended felt more like an inquisition.

"When did your power first manifest?"

"How many people know about it?"

"Did any of them find out by accident?"

"Are you involved with anyone right now? Do they know?"

"Ever got into trouble with the cops?"

"Any disabilities we should know about?"

On and on it went. His head was spinning, but he answered the deluge of questions as best he could. Lee smiled at him reassuringly every now and then from his safe spot by the kitchen counter, and it was all Richard could do not to beg him for a little help.

It lasted for about half an hour, though it felt more like three. By the time Ian sat back with a pleased expression on his face, Richard felt about as wrung out as a wet towel. He could sense dissatisfaction from some of the people in the room (he didn't even know all of their names). But none of them verbalized any disagreement when Ian finally said, "We've decided to allow you in for a trial period. It'll last two weeks. We'll re-evaluate and make our decision after that."

Richard could only nod. The man sitting next to him (was it Mark? No, something else) gave him an encouraging pat on his shoulder. "Cheer up! It's not as serious as all that."

"I'm sure you understand that we have to be careful." That was Aidan, the youngest of the group. He was grinning at Richard, and it did help to set him a little at ease.

"Should I-- Is there something I should do in these two weeks?"

"Just do what you would normally do. However, we do have a few rules..."

It was already dark by the time he and Lee stepped out of Ian's studio. "That went pretty well," Lee said, wrapping a scarf around his neck. "What do you think of them?"

"They seem very accomplished," he answered honestly. "I am glad they are giving me a chance, but I expect I won't fit in very well with the group." It came as a bit of a surprise to realize how much he actually wanted to. He'd gone in without any expectations, simply because Lee wouldn't leave him alone until he'd promised to at least go and talk to them. But there was an energy among that group that he quite liked.

Not that it mattered. He knew what he could do, what sort of person he was, and he did not belong with these confident, skilled people.

Lee only rolled his eyes, however, and gave Richard a friendly shove. "Stop being such a Debbie Downer. It'll be fine, you'll see."

"Hey, wait up!"

Lee's face lit up with a smile as the woman from the meeting came rushing towards them. "Whatever it is, I didn't do it," he teased. The woman just smacked his arm in answer.

"Nobody buys your little innocent act, Peroxide. Here." She handed him a phone. "You took Jimmy's."

"Fuck." Lee grabbed the phone from his pocket and made a face as he gave it to her. "Tell him I said sorry? Maybe I should just get a new one."

"I thought this one _was_ new," she pointed out. Her eyes kept sliding to Richard, and she finally stuck out her hand. "I don't think we were introduced in there. I'm Evangeline."

"It's nice to meet you," Richard murmured. 

Her gaze felt heavy, considering, but she was all smiles when she asked, "Where are you two off to, then?"

"I'm taking Richard to lunch," Lee said. "Wanna join us?"

"Ooh, a date," she said with a leer. 

Lee snorted. "It's just lunch. We've done it before, remember?"

"Yes, but I'm not a good-looking man, am I."

"You don't have to be." Lee waggled his eyebrows, eyes gleaming. She swatted him again.

"Thanks, but I'll pass. I have a deadline tomorrow, anyway." Her eyes were calculating when she told Richard, "I'm sure I'll see you around."

She waved goodbye and left them standing on the footpath. Richard felt strangely unbalanced by the way she'd stared at him; like he'd been seized up, spit out, and found somehow wanting.

Lee's face expressed his sympathy. "You'll get used to her," he said, trying to console Richard. "Come on, let's go get that pizza. And maybe some wine to wash Evangeline away."

* * *

"What the _fuck_ do you think you're doing."

He has known Lee long enough to be familiar with his moods, but this level of rage has never been directed at him before.

It hurts just a little.

"Whatever it is, I'm sorry?" he tries. Lee looks unimpressed.

"I don't even know what I'm more mad about, the fact that you did something this fucking stupid or that you didn't bother telling me what was going on. I had to piece it together from Eva's gushing over your new costume, for fuck's sake." He turns away to face his street-side window, posture stiff and unforgiving. Richard abandons the couch and lays a tentative hand on Lee's shoulder.

"I was worried about your reaction," he admits softly. "It was easier not to say anything."

The chuckle sounds harsh, forced. "Yeah, I bet it was. Was that your idea, or his?"

And that hurts, too. He squeezes the tense shoulder beneath his palm. "Mine. I haven't told him about you, or anyone else."

"Shit, that's not what I meant." Lee lets out an explosive sigh, and turns towards Richard with a small, pained smile. "You have my complete trust when it comes to keeping our secrets. You know that." Richard nods. "I just wish you'd care more about safeguarding your own."

"Lee..." Richard suppressed a sigh of his own. "He already knew my name, where I worked, my home address for all I know. What is there to keep from him?"

A frown mars Lee's face, and his eyes take on the colours of a stormy day. "Even if he knows everything there is to know, why would you get even more entangled with this man?"

Richard's shoulders slump, because that is something he's been pondering for quite some time now, and he still isn't any closer to a definite answer. "I enjoy talking to him," he says, a trifle helplessly. "I've never really had any friends who were-- who weren't like me, and it's nice to be able to talk to someone outside of this world for a change." That he hasn't had a lot of friends, period, he leaves unsaid, but Lee seems to understand anyway.

"I just wish you would've told me." Guilt gnaws persistently at Richard's insides. "I know I said he seems on the level, but we don't know if he has an agenda or not. Just--" He tries on a smile, but it doesn't entirely hide his distress. "Promise me you'll be careful, okay?"

"Of course." Impulsively, Richard tugs on Lee's arm until he can wrap both of his around the slightly taller man. "Sorry for being a dick."

"Technically, your parents are to blame for that." The joke falls a little flat, but Richard chuckles anyway. "I know you already know this, but I care about you, even when you're being an asshole."

Cheeks glowing a bit, Richard draws out of the hug and smiles at his overwrought friend. "Me, too." He grins. "That's the only reason I put up with your pining over the one who shall remain nameless."

Lee narrows his eyes. "I'm not pining. I'm in a perfectly healthy and happy relationship with my very hot boyfriend."

"Speaking of, how is Luke?"

He listens as Lee launches into a story about about their most recent date and lets the soothing timbre of his voice wipe everything away for a while.

Plenty of time to worry about the muddled situation later.

* * *

The queue for the bus seems longer than usual, and Graham's headache reaches a new level when he reads about the delays due to roadworks. He keeps glancing at his watch. Maybe it's time to invest in a car and be done with this bloody nightmare once and for all.

He's pushed forward a little, and reaches back automatically to grab the person in line behind him. "I'm so sorry," the man says, sounding flustered. 

Graham lets go when he's sure neither of them will topple over. "No harm done," he says, and the man gives him a bright smile, revealing metal braces covering his teeth. He has short-cropped black hair, a moustache straight out of the 80's and thick, red-rimmed glasses, and Graham feels a little sorry for the poor bugger and all the teasing he's most likely forced to endure.

"Are you waiting for the 75?" he asks cheerfully. 

"The 43." Graham shrugs. "Might be a while yet."

"Oh yeah, the roadworks." The stranger looks sympathetic. "Never really understood why they don't do these kind of things at night."

A bus draws up then and, with some relief, Graham notices the large '43'. "That's mine." He smiles, and sidesteps to the new line forming in front of the doors.

"Hey, wait!" He turns around. "Here, you dropped this." The man hands him his bus pass. "Must've fallen out when I bumped into you."

"Thanks." Their fingers brush briefly when he takes the pass. The line moves forward, and the man disappears in the shuffle of feet. He manages to wrangle a seat by the window, and pensively watches the crowd still milling at the bus stop.

It isn't until they've started moving that he notices his headache has magically disappeared.


	4. Chapter 4

He runs into Richard at the bank. Pleasure lights up his face, and his fingers seem to burn right through Graham's palm. "Are you sure you're not stalking me?" he jokes.

A shiver of dread runs up Graham's spine. He frowns. "No, of course not." A gentle pressure starts at the back of his skull, an urging to be elsewhere. "It looks pretty crowded. I think I'll come back tomorrow."

Richard looks a little confused, but masks it with a smile. "I'll walk with you," he offers. The pressure increases. "I still have some time before I'm due back at work."

"You don't have to," he tries, but Richard is already holding the door open for him. They easily fall into step, and Richard chats amiably about one of the books he recommended a week or so ago. Graham shivers and zips his coat up to his chin.

Richard shoots him a look. "Everything all right?" Graham nods. "You're barely saying anything."

"Headache," he manages to grit out. Hot pulses emanate from the back of his neck, and he can feel sweat trickling down to his shoulders. "Think I might be coming down with something."

Frowning, Richard pulls him to a stop and places his hand on Graham's brow. Richard's fingers are cold, but his forehead feels as if it's sizzling, and Graham hisses and jerks away. Richard's eyes flash with hurt.

"I'm sorry," he murmurs. "I think I'll head home."

He doesn't hear Richard's soft reply. His knees feel rickety, and he stumbles his way towards the nearest bus stop. There's an empty seat and he collapses into it, shaking slightly.

By the time the bus rolls around he does feel a little steadier, and at least manages to climb aboard without making a complete idiot of himself. _You did that already with Richard,_ his subconscious gleefully points out, but he can't even find the energy to feel bad about snubbing the other man. His mind wanders as the bus meanders towards his district. He begins to feel a bit better after a while; the shivers stop, and the strange headache disappears. He feels almost normal when he climbs the stairs to his flat.

Some of the symptoms linger, however, and they seem to grow stronger and weaker in random intervals. He cancels most of his training sessions, and leaves halfway through an outing with Richard, when he starts to feel so bad he almost loses consciousness.

A week passes, another, and Graham finally agrees to see a physician (mostly so Richard will stop calling him just to ask if he has).

Dr. Blackbourn orders a slew of blood tests, and follows it up with an MRI when they prove to be inconclusive. He calls Graham on a Wednesday and asks him to stop by, and Graham spends the ride there with fear heavy in his gut. He hasn't felt this helpless or on edge since his army days, and not knowing is wearing him down. It's starting to show -- he can barely have a normal conversation with any of his friends, and Richard especially has caught the brunt of his temper the past few weeks.

The receptionist instantly shows him through to the doctor's office. Dr. Blackbourn looks grim when he offers Graham a seat.

"There's nothing wrong with you," he says. "Your body is perfectly healthy."

Graham frowns. "It doesn't feel healthy."

"I suspect the trouble lies elsewhere." He looks thoughtful. "Did you experience any anxiety before these symptoms started?"

"No. Doctor," Graham's fingers dig harshly into his leg, "I don't like what you're suggesting."

"It's not uncommon, Mr. McTavish," the doctor kindly says. "Considering your history, PTSD is a perfectly valid diagnosis."

He snorts. "Don't you think I would've got it oh, I don't know, twenty-odd years ago?"

"Have you done any reminiscing lately? A lot of dwelling on past events?" 

Graham pauses, considers. "Yes," he finally admits reluctantly. "But not enough to suddenly bring about PTSD."

"Nevertheless," Dr. Blackbourn reaches for one of the business cards scattered over his desk, "I want you to consider therapy." Graham accepts the card automatically and gives it a cursory glance. "Dr. Meadows has extensive experience with troubled veterans. I'm sure she'll be able to help you further."

"I understand." Graham stands up and slips the card into his coat pocket. "Thank you, Dr. Blackbourn."

The doctor's smile seems sad. "There's no shame in therapy, Mr. McTavish. I do hope you'll give it a try."

He gives the good doctor a nod, and quickly leaves the clinic. He foregoes the bus, opting to walk instead. The chilly air feels crisp but strangely rejuvenating, and he takes in big gulps of it. 

His pocket starts vibrating about halfway home. He glances at the display, and for a few seconds considers not answering. Sighing, he slides his thumb over the screen and puts the phone to his ear. "Yeah." 

"How are you feeling?" Richard's concern is broadcast perfectly over the line.

"About the same."

There's a short pause. "Was your appointment today?"

Graham bites back the first retort. "Yes," he says. "I'm on my way home now."

"Is it all right if I drop by?"

His head begins to ache. "I don't think that would be a good idea. I'm not very fit company right now."

The ensuing silence quickly grows tense, and Graham begins to wish he hadn't answered after all. "I'm sorry," Richard finally says. "Will you at least tell me what the doctor said?"

There's a bench a little to his left, and Graham makes his way towards it. "He said they couldn't find anything wrong," he says as he flops down on the metal seat. "He recommended I visit a therapist."

"What, he's giving up?" Richard sounds offended on his behalf, and it brings a small smile to his face. "That's ridiculous, I'm sure there are more tests he can do to get to the bottom of this."

Graham leans his head against the back rest, and stares up at the calm sky. "I think I've been through all the tests they can possibly do, unless I let them cut me open."

A quiet sigh sounds over the line. "I wish I could help."

"Guess I should've befriended someone with healing powers," Graham teases gently. It doesn't even get a laugh. "I'm sorry. I should go, get home and get some rest maybe."

"All right, but will you let me come over tomorrow?" Graham hesitates. "I'll bring chicken soup."

"Homemade?"

Richard laughs. "I don't think its magic works otherwise."

Despite his misgivings, Graham says, "Yeah, sure."

He can almost hear Richard smile. "I'll see you tomorrow, then. Get some rest."

* * *

Graham is smiling when he opens the door. He looks normal, if a little tired, and Richard almost dares to hope that whatever it was faded away on its own.

He hasn't been in the flat two minutes when Graham turns pale and starts to sweat profusely. Every comfort he tries to offer only seems to make it worse. Graham eventually stumbles to the bathroom and locks himself inside. Richard leans against the opposite wall for a time, keeping his ears focused on any sounds escaping from within. But there's no retching, no items falling down because someone fell against them, and after ten minutes, he goes back to the kitchen.

The soup he brought is only lukewarm now. He grabs a bowl and pours some of the broth in. Operating the microwave takes some quick thinking (who needs all these buttons anyway?), but he finally ends up with steaming soup. He puts it down on the coffee table and spends the next few minutes plumping up the pillows on the couch.

When Graham emerges from the bathroom he looks positively haggard. Richard wisely bites his tongue, but he does slip an arm around the other man's waist and helps him to the couch. Graham shudders beneath his touch and collapses against the cushions.

Richard looks at him, and feels incredibly stupid.

"I'll be right back," he murmurs soothingly. Graham just gives him a distracted nod. He slips quietly into Graham's study and shuts the door behind him before taking his phone out of his pocket. 

The line is busy. With a soft curse, he tugs up his sleeve and presses five.

Lee answers within seconds. "The White King is ever at your service."

"I think someone got to Graham."

There's a pause. "What makes you say that?" Lee asks.

"He's been sick for a few weeks, and the doctors can't find anything wrong."

"That doesn't mean someone did something to him," Lee argues. "It could be something they just haven't looked for."

"I know this sounds mad, but I think it gets worse whenever someone with powers is around him. The symptoms aren't natural, Lee." Richard takes a breath and swallows his distress. "He's fine one minute and the next, he's shaking and can barely stand on his own feet."

There is a very long pause before Lee says, "Text me the address. I'll be there as soon as I can."

He spends the twenty minutes it takes for Lee to get there hovering restlessly around Graham and doing odd chores when he starts to show signs of stress. Richard practically runs to the door when the bell finally rings, and when he throws it open, Lee stands before him in full superhero regalia. 

"Now then," the White King says briskly, "let's take a look at this Graham."

Graham pushes himself up when they enter the living room, but stops halfway and just stares. "Friend of yours?" he asks slowly. Richard nods, and Graham shrugs. "All right, then. I'm Graham."

"You may call me White King." He crosses his arms and stares down at Graham for a moment. "Tell me about the past few weeks."

The list of ails is longer than Richard expected. There seems to be no rhyme or reason to any of it, but the shaking and headaches make frequent appearances where he's concerned. It makes him feel a little guilty for calling so often -- the mere sound of his voice appears to have caused his new friend undue harm.

The White King listens intently until Graham is done speaking. Richard can't read anything off his masked face. "Richard," he eventually says, "a moment, if you will."

Once they're safely ensconced in the study, the calm facade drops like a ton of bricks. "Fuck, Richard, I am so, _so_ sorry."

Lee is wringing his hands with guilt written all over him. "For what?" Richard asks, confused. "You can't help him?"

"No, I can." Lee bites his lip and avoids his eyes. "This is all my fault."

It finally dawns on him. "Did you _do_ something to him?" he hisses. Lee nods miserably, and Richard buries his face in his hands.

"I didn't mean for this to happen!" Lee almost wails, and Richard glares at him and tilts his head towards the door. Lee subsides a little, but continues in an agitated whisper, "He was just supposed to feel awkward around you, that's all. I would never hurt anyone on purpose, Richard. You _know_ that."

"So the fact that he's sick is just a happy coincidence?"

Lee looks appropriately horrified. "Of course not! I must've overshot." His shoulders slump. "I am really fucking sorry."

"I don't understand why you'd do this." 

"I don't even know anymore." Lee paces the length of the room. His obvious distress makes Richard feel a little better, a little vindicated. "You two seemed to become friends so fast, it made me suspicious. I thought he was manipulating you, and I guess I thought that forcing you two apart for a little while would be a good way to let you get a little perspective." Softly, he adds, "I had no right. If I were you, I'd really hate me right now."

"Hate is a strong word." Lee looks up at him, hopeful. "That isn't to say I'm not angry." _And feeling betrayed._

His friend nods, obviously miserable. "I'll go fix him up now," he mumbles, and Richard lets him go. 

The White King's voice carries clearly through the flat, but he can't make out the words. Graham says something in response, and then they're both quiet. Richard leaves his temporary sanctuary behind and moves towards the living room entrance. He can just make them out from there without being entirely visible. The White King has his fingers splayed over Graham's bald head, a touch Richard is more than familiar with. There's a look of intense concentration on his face. Graham looks peaceful with his eyes closed, a half smile playing about his lips.

Richard stares at him, and wonders at the strange fluttering in his stomach.

When the White King lets his arm fall, Graham looks as relaxed as a cat that's just had its belly scratched. "You'll be tired for a few hours," the White King explains. "But you'll be fine after that."

"Almost feels like you shot me full of morphine." Graham grins lazily.

The White King makes an imperious gesture. "Don't be ridiculous. Now, if there's nothing else, I have actual life or death situations to take care of."

His parting look is for Richard alone, and Richard shifts just a hair towards forgiveness.

"Want your soup now?" he asks. Graham gives him a tired nod.

It's easy to reheat the bowl now that he's figured out the mechanics of Graham's demonic device, and he returns with the hot soup in less than a minute. Graham has slid into a horizontal position on the couch. His closed eyes and even breaths make Richard smile a little. He gently puts the soup down and grabs one of the throws tossed over a nearby chair. Careful not to wake the sleeping man, he tucks the soft wool around him.

Only after, does he let himself slump into an armchair.

If there's a lesson to be learned here, he supposes it's "don't hide important things from your friends, lest they do something truly mental". Maybe Lee shouldn't shoulder the full responsibility for their current predicament.

Richard thinks about that for a moment, then shakes his head with a soft snort. No, Lee is definitely to blame.

He shifts a little and digs his phone out of his pocket. _Trying to protect me doesn't excuse what you did, _he types. After a moment's hesitation, he adds, _Not a newbie anymore. Trust me to take care of me!!___ He presses send before he can reconsider and thumbs off the screen.

The buzzing shakes him out of his lethargy. _Am an asshole. :(( Do trust you, just worried. Will make it up to you somehow._

He smiles, and replies, _Chocolate ice cream would be a good start_.

* * *

"I don't know, Lee." Martin frowned. "I'm sure he's a nice bloke and all, but he seemed a bit..."

"Out of his depth?" Evangeline suggested helpfully. "Kind of feels like he'll need a lot of babysitting."

"He's not that terrible now," Lee sputtered. "I'm not saying he has a lot of experience, but I've taught him a few things already, and he's a quick study."

"Some things cannot be taught," Ian pointedly said. Lee opened his mouth to argue, but subsided when Ian put up his hand. "However, I do believe we were all beginners once, and as we learned, so will he."

Lee nodded eagerly. He was the only one -- the others all had various expressions of disapproval, disagreement or, in Aidan's case, boredom.

Evangeline placed her elbow on the arm rest, and leaned her head against her palm. The tumbling of her curly locks down one bare shoulder distracted Lee for a moment, but his ears pricked right up when she said, "...not sure it's worth the bother."

"The bother of teaching _one of us_ ," and Evangeline looked a little taken aback at his sharp tone, oh God he hoped she wouldn't hate him, "how to better take care of himself and others around him?" James softly muttered something under his breath, but Lee ignored him and focused on Ian. "You didn't see what he was like when I first met him. I don't even know how he managed to keep himself alive, out of jail and his powers under wraps."

"If he's that bad, maybe Eva has a point?" Martin didn't look very happy with his conclusion, however. "I mean, doesn't it put the rest of us in danger if any one of us falls short?"

"I think he'll be fine." Everyone turned their heads to look at Aidan, who raised his eyebrow in challenge. "He has control over his powers, yeah? Those bowling balls are pretty fucking heavy, and he didn't even hit any of us in the head with them." Lee barely suppressed a snort. "He looks like a sincere guy. I'm sure he'll take all the rules very seriously."

"His trial period did go well," James remarked.

Evangeline sighed loudly. "Look, I get that Lee wants his new boyfriend closeby and all, but--"

"What?"

The studio fell deadly silent. "Isn't that why you brought him here?"

"Jesus, Eva." That persistent ache that always followed him around whenever he chanced to be near her intensified. "We're not dating, okay. First of all, I don't even know if he likes men, and second," he raised his head defiantly, "if you think I'd introduce someone to the group just because I'm dating them, you don't really know me."

Evangeline looked somewhat chastised. Martin comfortingly squeezed his shoulder, and Lee let himself take in a big gulp of air.

"I get that we're all still a bit on edge after what happened." If the silence had been heavy before, it grew almost unbearable after that. "But I've gotten to know Richard pretty well over the past few months, and he's a genuinely good guy. He just needs a little guidance until he can find his bearings."

Ian asked, "And will you be the one to take responsibility for him until he does?"

He didn't even need time to think about it. "I have been, anyway." He didn't add that Richard wasn't much of a bother, or that he felt so protective of his newfound friend that not offering advice and help would be pretty impossible. There was just something about Richard that brought all his sheltering instincts to the forefront. He suspected he might be acting a little too defensive on the man's behalf, but that couldn't be helped.

His answer made Ian smile. "I'm sure you have." The older man looked around at the rest of the group. "Shall we put it to a vote then? All those in favor of Richard joining us as an official member, raise your hands."

Their decision was unanimous.

* * *

He nearly jumps out of his skin when he looks up from his phone to find Graham's blue eyes fixed on him. "How are you feeling?" he's quick to ask. 

Graham puts a hand to his forehead and frowns a little. "Like I'm suffering the effects of getting smashed without doing any of the fun parts that come before that." He slowly levers himself into an upright position. "What time is it?"

"A little after eight." Richard's knees protest loudly when he gets out of the armchair. "Are you hungry?"

"Starving," Graham admits. He stands up slowly, but walks into the kitchen with confidence once he manages to stay steady on his feet. "You mind leftovers?"

Richard shakes his head. "I should head home. I just wanted to make sure you're all right." Tentatively, he puts a hand on Graham's arm, and lets relief flood him when the other man doesn't flinch away. He smiles, tightens his fingers once, then lets go. "I put the soup in the fridge. It should keep for a few days."

"Richard." Graham looks amused. "You don't really think you get to leave without some sort of explanation, do you?"

"Well, I was hoping," he tries lamely. Graham just chuckles and switches the electric kettle on. Defeated, Richard turns towards the cupboard hosting the plates.

They work around each other in comfortable silence. Graham's fridge is a lot more organized than Richard's, and between the half a dozen Tupperware boxes containing leftovers, they manage to cobble together a (mostly) nutritious meal. The vanilla tea that Graham sets to brew reminds Richard strongly of his days as a student, and the scent comforts him now just as it did then.

"So, what did the White King do to me?" Graham asks after swallowing several forkfuls of mashed potatoes. "Whatever it is, I feel much better."

"Which version do you want?" Richard hedges.

Graham just gives him a look.

"Someone manipulated your pheromones," he begins carefully. He remembers all the times Lee scolded him for wearing his heart on his sleeve, how that would only lead to people taking advantage of him and always losing at poker. He pulls his face into a carefully schooled semblance of calm, and continues his explanation. "Most people mistakenly believe that pheromones are only used to control a person's sexual drive, but they can actually have a much broader effect."

"Such as?"

"A very skilled manipulator can incite riots." 

Graham furrows his brow. "And in my case?"

This is the part he's been dreading. "It appears that whoever did this," _not the White King, of course not, someone completely different_ , "tied the effects to the proximity of superheroes." He studiously keeps his eyes fixed on his plate. "That's why you felt worse when I was nearby."

There are a few minutes of silence as Graham seems to digest this. Then he says, "I got headaches when you called me." Richard's mind freezes, but his hand finishes its motion and lifts the fork to his mouth. "You weren't anywhere near me then."

He tries on a guileless smile. "We're only guessing at the perpetrator's intent. It's difficult to be entirely sure. Perhaps a side effect was that, once you subconsciously picked up on someone's powers, you'd suffer milder symptoms at the sound of their voice."

His anxiety settles a little when Graham gives an accepting nod. "So the White King simply healed me?"

"Something like that. He restored the balance that was taken from you."

Graham grunts. "I don't understand why whoever it was would target me," he muses. "What were they hoping to gain?"

"Maybe it was an accident?"

"Is that possible?"

Richard nods. "Some people aren't aware of their powers. It's an easy thing to miss, especially when it's something like pheromone manipulation. There's no clear, instantaneous effect that they can see."

Graham's eyes crinkle at the corners when he smiles. Something seems to clog up Richard's throat, and he takes a quick gulp of water to forestall a coughing fit. "Will you tell the White King I said thanks?"

He smiles back. "Of course."

When Graham reaches for his abandoned plate, Richard quickly waves him off. "I'll take care of these." There's no argument, and he re-evaluates how tired his friend must still be.

"I don't really have dessert," Graham says, appearing suddenly behind him. He feels a shiver, and scrubs viciously at a particularly stubborn stain. "I think I remember-- aha! Here we go."

The subtle scent of Graham's aftershave wafts towards his nostrils a moment before he senses the heat of another person standing close to him. Fingers are gently placed between his shoulder blades, not exerting any pressure, and Graham's other hand comes to hover somewhere before his mouth. "Open up," he murmurs. Richard's breath stutters in his chest and he swallows harshly before obeying.

The smooth, creamy chocolate melts sweetly on his tongue. "There's a little bit here," Graham says softly. His thumb gently runs over Richard's lower lip and emerges with a brown smear. He brings it to his mouth, and when his tongue darts out to lick the chocolate off, Richard finds himself transfixed. He feels overwhelmed, suddenly -- his senses are overloaded, the beans are doing strange somersaults in his intestines, and between the touch on his back and the sight before his eyes, he doesn't know where to focus his attention. He settles on Graham, and finds a lazy smile on the man's face.

"I have to go," he blurts. He backs away from the sink and rushes towards the living room without drying his hands. His coat is still where he left it, but he doesn't even pause his retreat long enough to pull it on. "Phone me if you start to feel strange. Otherwise, I'll talk to you tomorrow."

He doesn't wait for a reply. His heart is beating a harsh rhythm in his chest, and he feels unpleasantly flushed. The cold wind does little to cool his face.

_Lee must've pushed too far the other way,_ he rationalizes. _That's all there is to it. Just a temporary side effect._

He doesn't call Lee to ask.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To celebrate me finally getting tickets for DoS, here's an extra chapter this week!

"Help needed from anyone near Sanford," Richard breathes, crouching silently on the wide windowsill. His eyes carefully track the group of gangsters as they drag their now unconscious victim over the cobblestones. At least half of them carry firearms in plain sight, and he's fairly sure the others must have them as well.

"Two minutes, am pretty close," Lee's voice sounds in his ear. "Exact location?"

"Alley behind McDonald's. On the move."

"Don't do anything stupid," are his parting words. Richard rolls his eyes and slides to the edge of the sill. He stands up quietly, suddenly grateful for the silent soles on his new boots, and launches himself towards the neighbouring window. The gangsters don't seem to be in a hurry, and the sound of their merriment is setting his teeth on edge.

"To your east." 

Richard turns his head slightly and gives Lee a thumbs up. Neither of them says a word while he makes another jump. When he's settled, he starts a headcount.

With a grimace, he rapidly signals Lee. His partner's quiet "Fuck me," echoes his own sentiments perfectly. The most they've ever handled together is ten; sixteen gangsters, all armed, and the only advantage they have is that they haven't been seen. Yet.

He flips open the snap on one of his belt pockets and carefully takes out a number of small darts. Lee has moved forward and is now situated to his right. He flashes another hand gesture and, at Lee's nod, opens his palm.

The darts align themselves before his eyes, and he manoeuvres them so the tips are pointed away from him. He focuses on the thugs surrounding the unconscious man first, hoping to add a little dead weight to the mix, and sends the darts on their way. He doesn't wait to see where they land but springs from sill to sill, going lower until he spots a platform a few floors down. Not stopping to think, he lets himself fall.

His hands latch onto a stone ledge and he grits his teeth as he swings precariously. A quick glance down shows him he's close to the edge of the wooden structure, so he starts to swing his legs from side to side, jumping to the right on the upswing and grabbing the window ledge there. It's an easy drop to the platform after that. He allows himself one single breath of relief, then sprints along the building and closer to where Lee is awaiting the imminent disruption.

There are five sharp grunts, and pissed off shouts that soon trail off into thuds as the men drop, one by one, like flies. Lee begins to move, and Richard opens another pocket.

The marbles aren't nearly as effective as the darts, but they serve his purpose well enough. They cause confusion among the ones who remain standing and allow Lee to quietly descend ahead of them. Richard can see him brush a hand over one man's shoulder, along another's back, and then they spot him and it gets really loud.

The White King does a clean backflip to evade the knife suddenly thrust at him. "Is this any way to treat a gentleman?" he mockingly asks. The two men he touched turn towards their comrades and start throwing punches amidst loud, foul-mouthed objections. The ensuing chaos gives Richard the space he needs, and he drops from his perch and launches into the fray.

When the gun goes off, he reacts instinctively. He can feel the bullet, can see its trajectory and where exactly it will hit Lee. His mind grabs it and he puts all his force against it. The bullet seems to writhe in midair, turning and twisting against the unnatural power preventing it from its goal, slowly losing velocity until it drops harmlessly to the ground, much too close to where Lee still stands. He blinks, and time resumes at its normal speed.

The punch catches him by surprise and sends him reeling into another thug's arms. Blood trickles warmly down his temple. With a snarl, he throws his head back. The crunch of the man's broken nose is satisfying, as is the scream he lets out. It's easy to twist out of the lax grasp and pull the man's arm behind his back, even easier to use his steel-toed boots on the gangster's knees and watch him slip to the floor.

"Status?" he mutters, grunting softly when someone's boot lands in his side. He holds on to the leg and lets his assailant hop for a few seconds until he wises up and pulls his gun. A blink of his eyes, and the gun goes flying out of the man's grasp, bouncing over the ground until it skids to a stop several metres away. With a sharp grin and sudden certainty, he pushes his power at the man and sends him flying in the same direction. The gangster hits a wall and collapses against it.

"A little help," Lee grunts in his ear. He turns around and runs full tilt at one of the men closing in on his friend. He grabs him around the waist and continues his run before letting the man lose with a little extra burst of speed. He flies through the air for a moment, a neat little arc, then crashes. 

It's a try if he's ever seen one.

Lee has managed to touch another two and has them acting as his bodyguards when Richard turns back. Together, they mow swiftly through the last few standing.

They're both breathing heavily by the time the last thug hits the ground. Lee is grinning from ear to ear, and Richard has a feeling that he looks equally foolish.

"I think you actually beat me this time." Lee sounds impressed and proud, and the compliment warms Richard to the core.

"I learned from the best." They share a soft smile. Lee's eyes suddenly widen.

"Behind!" he shouts, and Richard hears the unmistakable sound of a cocked gun before he can even think to turn.

_That's that then,_ he thinks a little hazily as he sees the terror in his friend's eyes.

The sound of a cut-off yell reaches his ears rather than a gunshot. Lee's mouth has gone slack and, alarmed, Richard spins around.

The gangster is crumpled on the floor. Graham is standing over him, gun steadily pointed at his skull. The expression on his face sends a shiver down Richard's spine, but then he lifts his head and smiles, and the strange ghost fades away.

"Looks like I'm just in time," he remarks. Richard grins, relief making him a little giddy. The White King is a stoic presence by his side. Graham's hands cleanly dismantle the gun as he walks towards them, dropping parts like breadcrumbs. He's wearing gloves, Richard notices with some surprise. 

"I am happy to see you on your feet." The White King crosses his arms over his chest. "And I suppose we owe you our thanks for your...assistance."

Graham mirrors the White King's pose and quirks his lips in a half-smile. "No thanks necessary. I'm just returning the favour."

"What are you doing here?" Richard asks. 

The change in Graham's expression is subtle. "I just happened to be passing by," he says, and Richard instantly knows he's lying.

The White King appears to detect something too, because it is with unholy glee that he asks, "A bit far from home to just be passing by, isn't it?"

"I had a meeting across the city," is the bland reply.

"And you didn't have enough to fully cover your bus fare and so decided to walk part of the way?" The White King's tone turns insultingly sympathetic. "It is quite all right, I'm sure we have all been in your situation at one time or another."

Graham raises an eyebrow. "Are you sure? I'm surprised they let you on the bus at all, dressed as you are." He sounds amused more than anything, but there's a glint in his eyes that Richard doesn't quite like. He helplessly looks between his two friends.

The sound of sirens and shouting echoes through the alley. "Right," Richard mutters. Louder, he says, "Graham, you shouldn't be here. We don't want to get you in any trouble. White King can stay here to deliver them into police custody."

The White King is already shaking his head before he's done talking. "You should stay. This is your victory, not mine. I will escort your friend," he glances at Graham with clear disapproval, "away from here." 

Every inch of Richard is screaming that this is possibly the worst idea Lee has ever had. He's not given any chance to object, however; Graham and the White King quickly make themselves scarce, just in time as police officers swarm the alley mere seconds after they disappear.

Richard bites back his frustration and puts on a serious, confident expression. He's sure they won't do each other any harm.

Probably.

* * *

The White King takes the lead when they leave the alley, and Graham stifles his amusement and lets him. He follows the scarcely-clad superhero through even narrower passages and around shifty-looking corners until it is finally deemed safe to stop. The White King turns towards him with a haughty expression, nose tilted up, every bit the aristocratic landlord -- if they were still in the 19th century, that is.

As it is, all it really reminds him of is a spoiled teenager getting ready to throw a tantrum.

"I'm sure you have better things to do with your time," the White King finally says. "I won't keep you any longer."

"Do you always talk like this?" He can't be sure, but there might be the beginnings of a frown behind that mask. "You must be _really_ dedicated to your act."

"I beg your pardon?" 

Graham bites back a manic grin at the hint of frost in that cultured voice. "All I mean to say," he says, making his voice the slightest bit conciliatory, "is if I had to dress and talk like you do, I'm not sure I'd be able to resist taking a jump off the roof for long."

The White King's lips press thinly together. "You're right," he says coolly. "I don't think you would last a week if you had to step into my shoes."

"Touche." 

The tense silence stretches. To his surprise, he isn't the one to cave first.

"Now that we're here, this may be an appropriate time to warn you."

"About what, exactly?"

"Richard." The word hangs between them. "You're placing him in a very precarious position."

"Is that so. How, exactly?"

"You're not one of us, so I don't expect you to understand. But there is a reason we conceal ourselves behind personae."

"I understand the necessity of subterfuge. It doesn't explain why some of you take it to such great lengths, but I get it. I haven't done anything to betray him, and I don't intend to."

"You claim to have good intentions." The White King dismissively shakes his head. "And you may have them. I don't claim to know, though you do act rather suspicious for someone who insists he has nothing to hide, and it seems to me that you've spent a lot of time stalking Richard. However, I can't say the same for others. There are many who would do anything to find out who hides behind the masks."

Graham snorts. "I hardly think they'll bother with me. I'm not the one constantly plastered all over the news."

"Maybe not. But if they _do_ find you, by whatever means, you will lead them straight to Richard."

He can't keep the hint of anger out of his voice when he says, "You don't know me, so I'll try not to be too offended by what you just said." The White King's lips curve into a sardonic smile. "I will tell you one thing, though."

"And that is?"

"I would sooner kill myself than reveal what I know."

The White King's eyes glitter strangely when he steps forward. "The choice may not be yours. I have never known captors to give their abductees that much freedom."

"War isn't the only thing they teach you in the army."

For the first time since the start of their conversation, Graham sees a hint of something other than dislike in the man's eyes. "All that matters to me is that he remain safe."

At least on that, they can agree.

"That's enough." Richard steps out of the shadows, stiff posture radiating displeasure. It makes him feel a little guilty and, from the White King's slumped shoulders, he's not the only one. 

There is an awkward moment where none of them seem to know what to say, and the White King finally lets out a soft sigh. "I think it's time I left." Richard's frown remains firmly in place, even when the White King places his hand on a stiff shoulder and deliberately meets his eyes. He doesn't say anything, however, and quietly disappears from view without a backward glance.

Which only leaves him to face Richard's wrath. Graham almost smiles. _Clever bastard._

Richard averts his eyes. "I'm sorry," he says, subdued. "He had no right to say any of that to you when you've done nothing wrong."

The tension and annoyance caused by the White King melts away at Richard's forlorn expression. "He seems to have your best interests at heart."

The other man sighs. "He's not usually like this. Something about this situation just doesn't sit well with him, I think. He's been telling me cautionary tales since I met him, mostly about ending up on some scientist's table." He bites his lip, looks a little pained. "I think something happened, before. He won't tell me what, but I've often thought that must be why he can be..."

"Such a mother hen?" Graham suggests. Richard snorts, but nods agreeably. "I understand."

Richard glances at him from beneath his lashes. "So, you're not angry?"

"I wouldn't say that," Graham mutters, and Richard grins a little. "But I think it's time I evened the stakes." 

"By revealing your deepest, darkest secret to me?" Richard teases.

"Yeah, something like that." The other man blinks, and Graham jerks his head towards the alley's nearest exit. "Not here, though. Let's go to mine."

"All right." Richard glances down at himself. "I'll meet you there?" he says with a self-conscious smile that is bringing all sorts of urges to the forefront of Graham's mind. He nods, and watches as Richard confidently clambers up to the roof. He quickly loses sight of him among the shadows and makes his way towards the main road, letting his feet guide him home while his thoughts restlessly wander.

It isn't easy to push the memories back. Now that he's awakened the beast, it's rather insistent on keeping his full attention. He focuses on an image of Richard instead, and manages to keep his mind occupied right up to the front door of his building. Plenty there to obsess over, after all, and what Richard doesn't know won't harm him.

He finds the man in question leaning beside his door when he arrives, fiddling with his phone. He looks up with a smile, eyes crinkling at the corners, and for just a moment, it's someone else's face that Graham sees.

Richard seems to pick up on his mood because he's unusually quiet while Graham lets them in and sets about flicking on a few lights. He sheds his coat, then turns to Graham. "Is this one of those conversations that'll require a bottle of scotch?"

It makes him smile, and that seems to ease some of Richard's worry. "I've never been a believer in that method," he admits. "I mean, doesn't that just make you feel worse the next day?"

"I've never thought of it like that."

"How about hot chocolate instead? Equally comforting without the unfortunate side effects."

Richard grins. "I think you already know my answer to that."

They work together in companionable silence. Richard looks comfortable in his kitchen, already familiar with where everything is. Graham pretends not to notice when Richard slips in a few extra marshmallows. It's hard to bite back a goofy smile when his adult friend is acting like a young boy, sneaking his hand into his mum's secret cookie jar. He turns his back to Richard under the pretence of checking on the stove, and bites on his cheek until his expression feels normal again.

Graham settles on the couch and expects Richard to take his usual armchair opposite, but Richard surprises him by sitting down next to him. Long legs curl up in the small space between them. His soles feel warm against Graham's thighs, and it's comforting somehow, the feeling of someone else by his side. Richard seems completely preoccupied with softly blowing air over his hot mug and, for a few seconds, Graham wonders if it's too late to take the coward's way out.

"Nothing forms a tight bond faster than fighting." He feels Richard's eyes on him and meets his friend's gaze. "I suspect you know what I'm talking about." Richard nods, and Graham looks back down at the floating marshmallows.

"I met Andy when I enlisted, and we got on pretty well. We ended up assigned to the same unit, which doesn't happen often, so we actually ended up spending our whole military careers together. He was like a brother to me."

"You don't have to tell me this," Richard soothingly says. "I think I understand."

Graham snorts. "I don't think you do. There is more to this than me losing someone I cared for." He takes a sip of his hot chocolate, trying to line up his thoughts into an order that would make sense.

"He liked to go into the nearby villages often when we were stationed. More than usual, but he was always curious about other cultures. I thought he just liked rubbing elbows with the locals, and there was always this happy glow about him when he returned. Until one day, he came back injured. He tried to hide it, but I was his bunkmate so of course I knew. He only told me what happened after I threatened to take him to the medics. Said he'd been doing some solo missions, unauthorized. Helping smaller villages that the army wasn't bothering with. Just little things mostly, he said, but this time there'd been rebels involved." He chuckles. "Which was strange, because the area we were in didn't have any rebel activity. So then he admitted the villages he was helping were actually quite far from here. I thought it was bullshit, of course. Some of the places he mentioned were at least five hours away by car, and he was never gone more than an hour at most. So, he showed me."

"He was special, wasn't he?"

Graham grimly nods. "Superspeed. Zipped around our tiny quarters and made a mess out of it, the bastard. Had to believe it after that. They caught him by surprise, which is how he got hurt. It wasn't anything serious, so I patched him up and our superiors never noticed. I think it was easier for him after he told me. I didn't go with him to help, but he had someone to tell his outrageous, heroic stories to."

A warm hand wraps around his, and it's only then that he notices he was about to spill chocolate all over his jeans. Richard takes the mug and puts it next to his on the coffee table. He slides closer until his thigh is plastered to Graham's, and Graham takes it for the comfort it is no doubt meant to be.

"It didn't last, of course." He clears his suddenly dry throat. "He got caught on a security camera somewhere. The army wasn't supposed to be monitoring that area, Andy was always careful about that. But they were, and a high-ranking officer found out. He was sent on special missions after that." He swallows back the bitterness. "He couldn't tell me anything about his assignments, but I thought most of them were assassinations. Every time he came back, it felt as if he'd left some part of himSELF behind in the desert. I didn't start suspecting until one of his nightmares woke me. He was always sent alone, and always off the record. I thought it strange that they never sent any backup, but it made sense after that." He glances at Richard with burning eyes. "That way his civilian kills wouldn't count against the unit, you see. We could keep our fucking spotless record."

"They found him in an old rebel hideout. Shot through the forehead, and the gun still in his hand. The official story is that he was killed by rebels. I think they suspected I knew something, and that I'd make a lot of unwanted noise just to make sure Andy's family got what they were owed. After that, I just couldn't stay."

Richard's fingers lace tightly with his. He tries to smile, but it feels more like a grimace instead. "So, now you know why you never have to worry about me telling anyone."

"I wasn't worried anyway," Richard says gently. "But thank you."

The tension slowly flows out of him the longer they sit there. It feels cathartic, the way he imagines his therapy sessions right after he left the army should have felt. He never had anyone to tell the whole truth to, and it surprises him a little how much lighter he feels now that he's shared the burden of his secret.

"I heard a bit of the altercation you had with the White King." Graham glances at Richard, nonplussed. "He was right about one thing: you _did_ act rather suspicious when I asked you why you were there."

"Oh, that." The room suddenly feels several degrees warmer. "It really isn't anything." Richard gives him a look, and he sighs in defeat. "Fine, I'll tell you, but if any of my clients find out about this I'll know exactly who to blame."

"What are you going on about?"

"I have very strict rules when I train anyone, and one of them is that junk food is completely forbidden."

"I'm...not sure I follow?"

Graham represses a growl. "I had a craving for fries, all right?" he grumbles.

The hand in his trembles slightly. When he looks up, Richard's other hand is covering his mouth, but nothing can hide his shaking shoulders or the mirth dancing in his eyes. Graham frowns, and the chuckle that escapes Richard then quickly grows into full-out laughter.

"Oh, shut it," he mutters darkly, but it's hard to hold onto his mood in the face of Richard's hilarity. His friend finally manages to tone it down to a wide grin. His eyes are covered in the bright sheen of unshed tears, and Graham thinks he's never looked more beautiful.

He leans forward instinctively, reaching out to brush his fingers against Richard's cheek. The blue eyes soften when his thumb rubs away a stray drop of moisture from one of the corners, and Graham thinks, _Yes, now, finally._

It starts in the middle, open-mouthed, all moist heat and clashing tongues. And yet, for all that the kiss is frantic, it's oddly gentle as well. The sweetness beneath makes him feel heady and desperate for more, more, as much as Richard will give. Richard's eyes are closed, but Graham can't stop his own from roving hungrily over the plains of the face that has haunted his thoughts for some time now. He swallows the soft hitch in Richard's breath and presses closer, until he imagines he can feel the other man's heart pounding against his chest, the same maddening rhythm as his own.

The need for air makes him wrench his mouth away. Their chests are heaving, their cheeks are flushed, and when Richard opens his eyes they are the colour of the midnight sky.

He doesn't know what Richard sees when he looks at him, but whatever it is causes a wall to be slammed between them so fast that he's left reeling. Richard fairly jumps up from the couch, leaving Graham behind with a cold pit in his stomach. "Richard," he begins, calmly, but Richard doesn't even seem to hear him, and before he realizes what's happening, the door to his flat slams.

He stares at Richard's coat, still hanging on the rack by the front door, and realizes dimly that Richard will be impossible to catch up to even if he tries.

With a sigh, he picks up their cold mugs and heads for the kitchen. If this is Richard's pattern, he hopes it's one they'll get past soon.

* * *

"Okay, out with it." Lee settles into Richard's favourite armchair with the grumpiest expression he's ever seen. 

"I have no idea what you mean." He takes his time hanging up his coat and putting his briefcase and keys away. Lee had barged in without so much as a by your leave, after all -- he could damn well wait.

"Yeah, I figured you'd say something like that. Are you going to sit your ass down," and his testy tone does shock Richard a little, "or am I going to have to follow you all around your apartment? Because trust me when I say I will."

Left with little alternative, Richard sits down on the couch and stares silently at his fingers.

When he doesn't say anything, Lee lets out an unhappy noise. "Do we really have to do this the hard way?"

"Do we really have to do this at all?"

"Well, you were a silent lump at the meeting yesterday and _everyone_ noticed, especially when you didn't even blush when they were teasing you about your new costume. So yeah, I think we do." His voice softens. "Something has obviously been bothering you for a couple of weeks, and I figured it was none of my business if you didn't want to tell me, but you don't seem to be doing too well on your own."

Richard grunts. "I didn't think you'd be able to listen objectively."

Lee mutters something under his breath. Then, he puts on a studiously bright expression and says, "So, this is Graham trouble then?"

"No need to go that far," Richard says, amused. 

The brightness is toned down to something closer to normal. "I promise not to be judgemental, all right? So, talk. Please?"

It's the 'please' that does it. Richard heaves a sigh. "I haven't spoken to Graham since that night we ran into him," he confesses.

"What, he's too busy for a phone call?"

"No, that's not it." Richard bites his lip. "He's called several times, and left messages."

"So you're the one doing the avoiding." Richard nods. "Why?"

"Does it matter?" Suddenly agitated, he jumps to his feet and begins to restlessly pace the length of the room. "I think you were right. I should never have got involved with him."

"Richard." Lee's voice commands his attention, and he stops. "Did he do something to compromise you?"

"What? No! He wouldn't do that."

"And you know that for a fact because...?" Richard glares at him, and Lee lifts his hands in surrender. "Okay, what then? Not that I mind being right, but you completely disagreed with me the last time we talked about this."

"Because it doesn't work, does it?" He resumes his pacing. "It's not sustainable with the life I have to lead. Everything starts off fine, but it doesn't take long for the first cracks to form, and once that happens it's too late to salvage even a friendship. It's not worth it, in the end."

Lee makes a strange sound. "I think I'm beginning to see. He finally made a move on you, did he?" He sounds amused, the bastard. "And you, what? Told him it wouldn't work because you're doomed to lead a sad and lonely life or some bullshit like that?"

"No."

"Did you kiss him back?" Stony silence answers his question, and Lee's lips curve into a grin. "So you're attracted to him, but you're going to tell him it's over anyway?"

"Stop guessing."

"I wouldn't have to if you'd just tell me what happened."

Richard sits down hard on the couch and buries his face in his hands. "He kissed me, and I left."

"You left." Richard nods miserably. "Without even saying anything?" Another nod. Lee is quiet for a while. "Well, that explains a lot then."

That makes him glance up. "What?"

Lee gives him a fond look. "I figured it had something to do with Graham pretty quickly, and since you weren't talking, I decided to get my information somewhere else."

He's suddenly filled with dread. "You went to talk to him?"

"Of course not. I'm not that stupid." Lee rolls his eyes. "I had his phone tapped."

"You didn't!" Lee doesn't look the least bit remorseful. "That's an invasion of privacy!"

"I was going to wait until you two got serious about this little dance you've been doing, and see what came out of Ian's thorough vetting process. But when I saw the state you were in, I thought this might be a better time." He raises his eyebrow as if waiting for Richard to say something, and when the silence stretches he bursts out with, "Aren't you going to ask me what I heard?"

"I'm not sure I want to know," Richard admits.

Lee nods. "He's pretty angry."

"He has every right to be."

"He kind of does," Lee calmly agrees. Richard looks up, but sees only support in his eyes. "Why'd you leave?"

"I told you. A relationship between us would be a security risk, for him as well as me."

"Martin and Amanda seem to cope just fine," Lee points out. "I think we both know that's a shitty excuse, so let's try that again."

It's impossible to sort anything out of the messy jumble of his feelings. He tries, though -- casts his mind back to the kiss, to the overwhelming maelstrom that ran through him and left him helpless in its wake. The intensity of it was thrilling, unlike anything he'd ever experienced, and part of him could have stayed in that moment, forever content.

Lee's gentle touch brings him out of his wandering. "You can't always run, Richard."

He can't manage more than the ghost of a smile. "So you're defending him now?"

"I may have been wrong about him," Lee admits, albeit grudgingly. "Let's just say that surveilling him has shown me a few things and leave it at that. There's something you should know, though."

"What?"

"Your outfit was a custom job, and he spent quite a lot on it." Lee's hand squeezes his arm. "That should tell you something."

"I don't think it matters anymore, to be frank," Richard mumbles. "After what I did, I wouldn't speak to me either."

"You won't know for sure until you try. Life's too short to spend it not taking any chances. If anyone should know that, it's people like us."

Richard shoots him a sidelong glance. "Maybe you should take your own advice and stop longing for Evangeline from a distance."

Lee grins. "We're not talking about me. Besides, I don't cheat." He stifles a yawn. "That was more exhausting than I thought it would be."

"You do look tired." Richard observes his friend through slitted eyes. "Trouble sleeping?"

"Been sleeping too much, actually." Lee's mouth twists into a grimace. "Can barely get out of bed in the mornings, even after nine hours sleep." He tilts his head, eyes gleaming wickedly. "Maybe Luke's wearing me out too much."

A comment like that is fully deserving of a pillow to the face, Richard decides.

* * *

Graham's face reveals nothing when he opens the door on the second knock. Richard, on the other hand, feels as if everything he's thinking is written in big, bold strokes all over him, but Graham can't seem to read the writing.

Or maybe he chooses not to.

There's no backing out now, however. "Can I come in?"

Wordlessly, the door is pulled wider and Graham steps aside. Richard heads straight for the living room, not feeling comfortable enough to take off his coat in the hallway. His fingers nervously toy with a loose thread on his scarf. Graham doesn't seem to be inclined to say anything when he perches on the back of the couch, arms loosely crossed over his chest. 

Richard swallows. "How are you?"

Graham gives a minute shake of his head. "We're not going to do this."

"What?" His heart feels like it's plummeting, all the way down to the soles of his feet.

"I'm not giving you anything to hide behind. No idle chatter, no cups of tea. Say what you came here to say."

And that is fair, even if the implication does sting a little. He wishes vainly for some inkling of Graham's thoughts. Anger, dislike, anything would be better than this blankness.

At least if he's angry, he must still care.

"I'm sorry," he says. "I shouldn't have run away. You have every right to be furious with me."

Graham's snort of laughter sounds harsh. "You think _that's_ why I'm angry?" Richard looks up, surprised. "I did something you clearly weren't comfortable with, and you left. We're grown men, it's not as if I felt like a spurned teenager. I would've preferred it if we could've talked about it instead, but how you deal with situations is your prerogative." His eyebrows draw together. "I'm angry because you've been avoiding me ever since. I thought we were better friends than that."

"We are," he tries to say, but it comes out a choked whisper. His fear is a tangible thing, wrapping around his throat and cutting off his air. He briefly closes his burning eyes and takes a shallow breath. "You're right. I've been a coward, and I'm the last person to realize it. There is no other justification I could offer."

"I'm not asking for platitudes, but I wouldn't say no to an explanation."

And that is the hard part, because even now, after what feels like endless weeks of thinking it over, Richard still doesn't have one. His mind casts about for words that would settle the matter, dissolve the unnatural tension between them. Apologies, entreaties, but none of it seems right. Surely Graham deserves better than hollow banalities.

His thoughts a jumble, he moves forward, eyes fixed on Graham's. He closes them at the last second, afraid to see rejection, and brushes a trembling kiss over Graham's firm lips.

Seconds tick by loudly in his head, and his useless hands curl into fists. But then the lips beneath his part, and Graham swallows the harsh sound that erupts from his throat. His fingers shake as they frame Graham's face, and the erratic beating of his heart thrums through his blood and pounds loudly in his ears.

A hand pushes firmly against his chest. His eyes fly open. 

"You're doing it again." Graham's voice is hoarse. "Stop hiding."

"I'm not--" He falters at the strong emotion in Graham's eyes. He notices, suddenly, that Graham's other hand is loosely wrapped around his arm. It steadies him, and as his right thumb traces a path along a cheekbone, he meets that intensity without flinching. 

"I care for you," he simply says. Graham's eyes widen. "The mere thought of losing you wakes me, sometimes. Part of me felt that it would be easier if I turned you away without even trying. That it would hurt less, somehow. It felt as if I was walking around with a gaping wound, though, and I didn't know how to close it. I still don't, and if nothing comes of this, then I suppose I--"

The sudden tug on his coat breaks the flow of words, and Graham's subsequent onslaught does its best to quickly rob Richard of the ability to think. He doesn't know how they make it to the couch, which of them steered the other, but he's settled on Graham's thighs, and broad, gentle hands are roaming over his coat-less back. Nails scratch at his nape and he tilts his head back with a sharp gasp. Graham's fingers guide it back down. "Idiot," Graham whispers fondly below his ear, and then his tongue traces a wet path across the lobe and Richard turns his head a fraction and mashes their mouths back together. 

His arousal is a heady thing. He presses himself flush against Graham's broad chest and relishes the resulting friction as well as Graham's cut-off moan. The thighs beneath his spread a little, and Graham's wandering hands slide down to cup his arse. Even through his jeans, the sensation is enough to cause a full-bodied shudder. The hands guide him and he shifts obligingly, and when he settles, their groins pleasurably rub against each other. He hears a soft whine, realizes that it came from him, and rolls his hips as Graham nips at his shoulder.

A soft hiss is what finally pulls them apart. Richard bites his swollen lip at the annoyance in Graham's eyes, but then his hand fumbles next to them and comes up with a small, woven basket that used to sit on the bookcase at the other side of the room. Exasperation turns to amusement. "If you wanted to stop, you could've said. No need to throw things at me."

He can feel the hot flush creeping up his neck. "Oh God, I'm so--"

The interrupting kiss tastes of laughter, and it mirrors the expression on Graham's face when he draws back. Richard feels entirely exposed beneath Graham's heated gaze. There are no secrets he has to keep, nothing he has to hide, and he's suddenly free in a way he hasn't been since he discovered his powers.

When he next brushes his lips over Graham's, it's gentle. He lingers there and whispers, "Can I..."

Graham breathes, "Yes," against his lips, and Richard lets himself fall the rest of the way.

* * *

He wakes up to incessant buzzing. He reaches out for his phone with his right hand, but his fingers land on something soft instead. He cracks open his eyes and glances to his side.

_Oh, that's right._ Pleasure hums through him when his gaze lands on Graham's prone form, but there's still the matter of his phone so he turns over with a sigh. It's on the nightstand next to his head. A muscled arm curls around his midriff when he reaches for it, and he settles into the embrace before answering with, "Hello."

"It's Martin. Sorry, did I wake you?"

"It's fine. Is everything all right?"

"Actually, I was hoping to find Lee with you?" Martin's worry kindles his own. "We were supposed to meet an hour ago for a job, but he never showed and he's not answering his bloody phone or comm."

"I haven't seen him since yesterday." He shifts until he can sit up, and Graham moves with him, hand coming to rest on Richard's shoulder. He leans a little into the comforting touch. "Maybe he's still asleep? He did mention he's been tired the past few days."

Martin makes a doubtful noise. "Look, would you mind dropping by his place to make sure? I don't know, but I have a bad feeling about this. It's just not like him."

"Yeah, of course." He tosses off the blankets and slides to the edge of the mattress. "I'll call you when I get there."

"Ta, Richard."

"What's happened?"

Richard looks at Graham over his shoulder as he fastens his jeans. He wonders for a moment how much he should say, and finally settles on, "I need to check on a friend." He moves back to the bed and leans over it to give Graham a soft kiss. "I'll give you a call after?"

"Would you like me to come?" 

The surprising offer spreads warmth through his chest, and he smiles despite his worry. "I have to go alone, but thank you." He hops awkwardly on one foot as he tugs on socks and shoes. "Maybe we can have dinner tonight?"

He turns around when Graham doesn't say anything. Graham looks as if he wants nothing more than to drag him right back into bed, emergency be damned. But all he says is, "I'll cook." 

They share a knowing smile -- Richard's running days are finally over.

He drives a little recklessly that morning, taking full advantage of the still-empty roads and not caring for once about obeying the speed limit. It takes him less than fifteen minutes, and he climbs the stairs two at a time. 

His knocking goes unanswered. He knows that if he breaks down the door, the police will be here within two minutes, and the door doesn't miraculously swing open when he tries the handle. He could hypothetically use his powers to force the lock, but anxiety has taken a firm hold on him, and he's not sure he has the concentration to manage it. He glances around the hallway, and stops when his eyes land on the row of postboxes further down.

Finding Lee's is easy, but retrieving the hidden key from behind it takes him longer than he likes. His fingers feel battered when he finally gets it, but at least it still fits in the door. He quickly closes it behind him and stashes the key in his pocket. "Lee?" he calls out. He almost feels like a thief as he quietly traipses through the familiar flat. It looks the same as it always does. He pushes open the bathroom door with faltering hope, but it's dark and cold. The bedroom door is open just a crack. He steps inside, and surveys the empty room with the first stirrings of true panic.

He tries Lee's cell again then. A soft buzzing emanates from the bedroom and he begins to search. He finds Lee's phone beneath his pillow, and that is what settles it.

Lee never leaves home without it.

His hand shakes as he dials Martin's number, but not as much as his voice when he says, "Lee has disappeared."


	6. Chapter 6

They all gather at Ian's studio within fifteen minutes of Richard's call to Martin. Everyone is quiet and grim, so when Aidan stumbles in with one over-sized rucksack, two solid cases, and a smile, he receives a roomful of stares.

"I may be able to find Lee," he says without preamble, but then he stumbles over his own two feet and makes such a scared sound at the case's impact with the floor, that Richard and James step forward to relieve him of his load. Aidan grins and directs them towards one of Ian's work tables.

It takes him another ten minutes to get his equipment set up. Richard is fairly vibrating with the need for information, but Aidan has that look, the one that says, 'distract me and I'll fly you off to a deserted island and leave you there'. So he paces the room, ignores Ian's sympathetic looks, and tries to will Lee to be okay.

"Got it," Aidan finally crows. The rest of them descend on him like vultures. "Right, so Lee's been helping me test the trackers."

Considering how tense they all are, the moment of silence that envelops them after Aidan's nonchalant statement is surprising. Only one moment, though -- after that, it's pure chaos, and Aidan winces at the noise levels and holds up his hand. 

"If you'd all shut up," he begins loudly, lowering his volume a little once they pipe down. "Better. So we've been testing these for about a week now." He holds up a thin syringe. "Meet Wally."

"You're fucking joking," Martin mutters. 

Aidan either ignores him or doesn't hear. "It's basically nanobots--"

"You can make nanobots?" Evangeline interrupts. Aidan gives her a look.

"Of course not. I just tweaked their programming, that's all."

"Oh, is _that_ all," Evangeline rejoins with a roll of her eyes.

"As I was saying, Wally consists of tiny little nanobots that transmit the bearer's location. Not that simple, of course, but," Aidan shrugs, "the details can wait for later. All you need to know is, once Wally is injected into your bloodstream, it lasts for three days before disintegrating."

"So we're supposed to inject ourselves every three days?" James makes a face, and Richard's tenuous hold on his temper snaps.

"Does that really matter now?" he bites out. People studiously avoid his blazing eyes. "How does this help Lee?"

"Lee took his last injection about 38 hours ago."

Ian purses his lips. "So we have less than two days." Aidan nods. "Can you tell us where he is now?"

"Well, no." Aidan winces at Richard's glare. "It's not that simple! The nanobots are sending out a signal, but Lee is definitely out of range of the receivers. I only put them around his neighbourhood and the section that he guards. But I do know roughly what direction he was moving in."

He turns the screen of his laptop around so they can all see the map. There is a purple line drawn over it, but it is broken in the middle. "He moved north when he left home, but he did pass through the upper corner of his section, so his heading was northwest."

"That still leaves a lot of ground to cover," Evangeline points out.

Aidan's eyes gleam. "I have a plan, though." There's a small, black case sitting beside him, and he flips open the lid. "I've fitted these wrist straps with receivers. If we cover the search area into smaller blocks and assign a few to each of you, I should be able to pick up a signal if Lee is anywhere nearby."

Richard picks one up and slips it on without any hesitation. It seems to be the cue the rest was waiting for. One by one, they wait for Aidan to confirm that he is receiving their readings. Martin and James have already stripped down to their outfits, and Richard quickly follows suit. He's just fastening his belt when his left pocket vibrates.

_How does spaghetti sound?_

It seems so much longer ago that he left Graham's warm bed. It hasn't been more than two hours, but it feels as if his entire life is nothing but this nightmare.

_Emergency can't make it sorry._

Graham's reply comes half a minute later. _Be careful._

He stows his phone away, puts on his mask and heads to Ian for his location assignments. Three minutes and he's on his bike, zooming through the streets and for once not caring about the strange looks he must be getting. On a whim, he briefly takes one hand off the handlebar and taps '1' on his dialling pad.

"Freefall, go."

"Can you track down Luke Evans?"

There's a short pause. "That's the White King's...? Yeah, okay, just--" Rapid tapping sounds in his ears. "Do you have his number?"

"No, but he's an accountant at Adams & Simmons."

Another series of taps. "Right, am on it. If it pans out I'll let you know."

The channel goes silent, and Richard is once more left alone with his thoughts.

His head feels like it's filled with white noise. Lee has always been the most security-conscious person in the group: constantly changing his passwords, resetting his security system, and with at least two exit strategies out of any given situation. For him to simply disappear without even a forced door makes Richard's blood run cold. 

"Freefall to all. We have a situation on the eastern side of the city. There seems to be some sort of riot, and the PSU members that were sent to quell it have apparently joined, instead."

"This is Mesmer. We will have to split into two teams. One will continue the search, while the other deals with the uproar."

Richard bares his teeth in a silent snarl. Ian's suggestion is logical and entirely reasonable, but every inch of him rebels against the thought of fewer able bodies searching for Lee. "I will continue searching."

"I think Vimmy should help you. Mesmer, Firecracker and I will go check out the riot. Freefall can keep running point."

He feels a rush of gratitude for Evangeline. "Freefall, can you send Vimmy and me the additional areas we need to cover?"

"On it. Keep your phones in hand. Freefall out."

His phone begins to ring before he even has it out of his pocket. "I thought you were going to text me?" he answers.

"Richard?" Graham sounds confused as well as worried. "Are you all right?"

"Sorry, I was expecting someone else. I can't talk long." He steers his bike around a bend in the road, and comes a little closer to the ground than he's comfortable with. The wheels screech loudly over the asphalt.

"Was that...?"

Richard winces. "I'm fine," he blurts. "But there's a bit of an emergency, so I have to--"

"I watched the news," Graham interrupts. "Are you heading into that riot?"

"I'm nowhere near it," he tries to soothe.

"Where are you then? Is there another emergency?"

"There is, but probably not in the way you're imagining." He represses a frustrated sigh. "Graham, I really have to--"

"I'm fucking worried, all right? I just wish I knew what was going on."

It feels strange, having someone apart from Lee express concern over his well-being. Strange, but heart-warming, and perhaps it's that which prompts him to say, "The White King is missing, and most of the people looking for him now have a more urgent situation to handle. So I have about three times as much riding to do, with very little time to do it in." His phone vibrates against his ear. "I just got the text I was waiting for. I'll call you later, all right?"

"I can help."

Richard's bike skids to a stop. "What?"

"Look, you can clearly use the extra hand. I can borrow a car and help you cover more ground quicker." It comes out in a rush, almost as if Graham's afraid he'll disconnect the call before he can explain himself. "You said yourself, you don't have much time."

All that is true, but, "No. I'm not involving you in any of this."

"How will anyone know? It's just driving around certain blocks, isn't it?"

He can feel himself begin to cave. "You don't have the necessary equipment."

"I can meet someone and pick it up."

"...Fine." Graham makes a soft noise. "How quickly can you be at Empire Square?"

"Ten minutes?"

"I'll find you there." 

He quickly hangs up before he can say anything stupid and calls Aidan over the comm. "Freefall, I need another receiver."

"Yours is still working, isn't it?"

"It's for a friend. He wants to help."

"...A superhero friend?"

He should have known Aidan wouldn't simply go for it. "The White King's life could be in danger. Does it really matter who he is?"

There is a beat of silence, and Richard distantly wonders if he has just forfeited his place among the team. "I don't suppose it does. Ring me when you're closeby, I'll drop it from the window."

"Thanks. Did you manage to find Luke?"

"Oh, yeah I did. He's at work, I even spoke with him. He sounded fairly normal. I don't think he knows anything, but I did get his cell number."

He wasn't actually expecting anything to come of it, but it causes a pang of disappointment nonetheless. "I'll be there in two minutes," he chokes out, and stabs the disconnect button before Aidan can say anything else.

Traffic slows him down considerably, and he reaches the rendezvous point later than expected. Graham is easy to spot, however, and he stops his bike next to where the other man is leaning against a bright red sports car, albeit a roomy one. "It belongs to one of my clients," Graham explains when Richard raises his eyebrow. "Besides, the faster the better."

He can't argue with that. "Put this on," he instructs, and fires off a quick message to Graham's phone. "I sent you the areas you'll need to cover. Just drive through them, and if we pick anything up I'll call you."

Graham nods, and reaches out to grasp his shoulder. He's not sure what Graham sees, but whatever it is makes him squeeze hard, once, and then pull back. "Go," he says, and Richard does.

* * *

His earpiece comes to life somewhere around the fifth block. "This is Illusion. We have a huge fucking problem here. Whatever it is that's causing these riots, it works on Firecracker and Mesmer if they spend too long among the affected people. I've pulled them both out and they seem to be coming out of it, but I can't handle this by myself." 

He can vaguely hear Martin's cursing in the background. Ian seems to be faring better, however, since he quickly points out, "Illusion is immune to it, whatever it is. Firecracker and myself will take it in turns and help the people as best we can. Illusion should search for the perpetrator."

"It's probably some kind of hormone manipulation then," Evangeline mutters, "but I've never seen it on this scale. It's either more than one person, or it's airborne." There's a tense pause. "Is that even possible?"

"I'm not sure, but there has to be a source either way," Freefall says. "Find that, and let's take it from there."

"Right." She sounds grimly determined. "How's the search going?"

"Not even a blip. They're still looking."

He tunes them out after that. His own frustration and fear are overwhelming enough without adding theirs to it, and the streets in his current area are so crowded, it requires all his concentration not to run into anyone while maintaining his breakneck speed. The chatter eventually dies out completely.

But then the earpiece signals a private call, and he answers with no small amount of trepidation. "What is it?"

"We got a hit." It is amazing how quickly hope wells up within him. "It's coming from your friend, can you call him up?"

He's already scrabbling for his phone before Aidan finishes his question. It takes Graham three rings to answer, and when he does, Richard doesn't even let him get out a 'hello'. "Where are you now?"

"Somewhere on Kenneth Road. It's some sort of industrial area, lots of tall chimneys and black smoke."

"Is there a specific landmark, something to tell us where exactly?"

After a moment, Graham says, "Building 32."

"Building 32 on Kenneth," Richard repeats.

"All right, got it on the map. Tell him to try heading north on Yew."

"Graham, can you turn north into Yew?"

"Turn coming up now." Richard takes the opportunity to change his own course, heart beating rapidly. A minute later, Aidan says, "No, that's no good. Tell him to take the next left."

"Go left when you can."

"The signal is getting stronger," Aidan says, clearly excited. "Tell him to keep going. I'll text Vimmy."

"I'm on my way," Richard says. "Maybe fifteen minutes."

"He's somewhere here?" Graham asks. Richard just grunts, distracted by the enormous truck in front of him.

"Vimmy's ETA is twenty, maybe twenty-three minutes he says."

_That's too fucking long,_ Richard thinks, but he knows exactly what Aidan will say to that. Instead, he asks, "The riot?"

"Illusion is sure the source isn't a person, but we can't pin it down beyond that. Whatever it is, it's moving around."

There's a hint of something else beneath the obvious irritation. "This isn't the time to be keeping secrets, Freefall. What are you trying to hide?"

"Tell your friend to stop." 

Richard dutifully relays the instruction, but adds a stern, "Freefall," that makes Aidan sigh.

"Look, I have my suspicions, but they might not be true and even if they are, we're doing everything we can anyway. I'd mention it if I thought it would help."

The reproach in his voice makes Richard subside with a softly muttered apology.

As luck would have it, he actually arrives at the same time as James, who gives him a feral grin and a cheeky little wave. He waves back and parks his bike behind Graham. The window rolls down when he approaches.

"So it's that building?" Richard nods. "I'm going in with you."

"No. And I'm not bending on this one. You've done all you can, and I am really grateful, but we'll handle it from here." He tries to smile. "Go home, Graham. I'll give you a call as soon as we find him, I promise."

It's obvious Graham doesn't like it, but he has the good grace not to argue. He does tug Richard's head through the window, however, and delivers a bruising kiss that leaves Richard gasping for air. "If I don't hear back from you within an hour, I _am_ coming back here."

Not an idle threat, Richard knows. "You won't need to," he promises. He's not sure either of them believes him, but Graham lets him go and rolls the window back up. Richard waits until his car is actually out of sight before walking towards James.

"So what's our plan? Do I get to punch in a new doorway?"

It sounds a little too tempting. "I'm not sure a stealthy approach wouldn't be wiser."

"I think it's safe to assume he isn't here of his own free will." James's grin is shark-like. "We'll try sneaking in first, but I'm not making any promises beyond that."

Richard bares his teeth. "Oh, neither am I."

"Good lad." James claps his shoulder. "I'll take the roof. Give 'em hell, Dickie!"

The way he's currently feeling, the people responsible for this should count themselves lucky that he has a no-kill policy.

* * *

He enters the building from the back, through one of the first floor windows, after cajoling the latch to flick itself up. It looks like an office: scattered papers, computers, phones, and pens lying everywhere. Nothing about it screams 'superhero abductors', but then Richard supposes that would be fairly stupid.

The door is thankfully unlocked. He opens it a crack and peers into the hallway. Finding it deserted, he slips through the door and plants his back against the wall. "Blueprints?" he whispers.

"Got them here," Aidan answers. "I can't tell you exactly where he is, but it's somewhere on the west side. Follow the corridor and take the last right, then the second left."

"Copied. Vimmy is entering from above."

"Yeah, about that, lads, there's some sort of highfalutin aerial here that sure looks active to me."

Richard makes his way down the path outlined by Aidan. The sound of their colleague's rapid typing seems unnaturally loud. It finally stops, and Aidan breathes out a soft, "Fuck."

"Problem?" Richard asks softly.

"I traced the broadcast signal. It's tied to the problems east, and the security is bloody--" More typing, more cussing, and then Aidan says, "I'll try and disable it remotely. Vimmy, take the first right once you enter and follow the corridor. I'll be here on mute, yell if you need anything."

The first floor appears to be completely empty, and when Richard finally finds the stairway he pauses. "Vimmy, can you manage the three floors between the roof and the first? I think there's a basement, I'd like to have a look at it."

"Go right ahead. Let me know if you find the bastards."

He will have to get in line; Richard fully intends on doing plenty of damage by himself.

The ground floor is nothing but one large, empty space. Two of the walls are dotted with covered windows, and a third has a large set of doors leading outside. He spends a moment on springing the lock on the potential exit before carefully venturing down into the basement.

At first, he doesn't notice anything amiss. The basement is dark and quiet, and all the doors he opens lead to storage areas. Most of them are empty as well. He finds a stack of boxes in one, but all they contain is an assortment of hollow metal pipes. 

It isn't until he's standing at the end of the corridor, ready to turn back around and try the floors above, that he feels it. The softest wisp of air, barely noticeable, carrying the scent of chemicals.

"Freefall?"

"Right here, go ahead."

"Do the blueprints show anything peculiar on the west side of the basement? An additional exit, perhaps?"

"No, should be just the one stairwell leading there."

His searchlight is too small to really help, but with it he carefully scans the wall before him. It shines over a light switch that appears to be stuck when he tries to press it. He runs his finger gently along the edges until he finds a protrusion. He pushes it with his nail, and the top panel flaps open to reveal another button beneath. It doesn't take more than a nudge for the section of wall in front of him to silently slide away and reveal a well-lit staircase, leading further down.

"There's a second floor to the basement. Active."

"Hold position. I need a few minutes to get there."

But Richard is done waiting. "Going in. Follow when able."

He pays no heed to the string of curses that erupts over the comm. The farther down he goes, the more he can hear. Steady sounds, like operating machinery, nothing loud enough to attract attention. And then, rising above that, a keen.

The man he finds standing before him when he turns with the passage receives a hard right hook. He slams the side of his hand down on the neck as well, for good measure and personal satisfaction, then turns his gaze to the door the man is clearly meant to be guarding.

The lock is digital, and he slams his fist into the wall. A hand on his arm stops him from doing more, and he is gently steered away from the door. "Allow me," James says.

The resounding crash of the door falling inwards causes a cacophony of loud voices. Richard rushes inside, trusting James to guard his back. The area he enters is large, and full of mysterious equipment. He worms his way through the rows of tables and only then notices the large, glass pane to his left. A lot of people seem to be rushing about there, no doubt reacting to their sudden entrance, but a glance behind shows James holding up the door as an oversized shield. So he keeps going until he reaches a clearing amidst the chaos, empty except for one contraption in its middle.

His mind doesn't register what his eyes are seeing, at first. There is no movement, nothing to indicate life. But then he hears it again: a soft, broken moan, coming from straight ahead. 

He rushes blindly towards what he now realizes is a St. Andrew's cross, barely recognizable from the amount of wires trailing from and around it. Strapped to it, with his head slumped forward, is Lee.

He must make some sort of noise, because James's voice appears in his ear. He can't make out the words, can't see anything beyond the excessive bruising on Lee's face, arms, torso. He must've fought them, until they...

Blindly, his hands and mind reach for the metal cuffs tying Lee to the cross. The ripped off metal shoots off towards the wall and makes an exploding sound when it makes impact. Without the restraints to keep him upright, Lee begins to fall forward. Richard quickly grabs him beneath the arms. A look at his back reveals dried blood, more bruises, and tubes and wires embedded in his skin.

"Enemy ahead!"

He lifts his eyes slowly, observes the small group of armed men suddenly surrounding him. "Put him back down," one of them orders.

Someone laughs. Dimly, he realizes the chilling noise comes from him. He hears the unmistakable sound of safeties being released. Lee twitches against him, and the movement loosens one of the needles they stuck in him, releasing another rivulet of blood.

His vision blurs with rage, and the world fades to bright white.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A Police Support Unit or PSU is a unit of police officers who have undergone specialist training in public order policing.


	7. Chapter 7

Time ceases to matter. Enemies move towards him in slow motion, and he only has to blink for them to disappear. The walls shake with his fury. Glass shatters all around him, leaving tiny cuts on his neck, face, Lee's arms. He banishes the shards with a thought and protectively cradles Lee. Gently, he coaxes the needles from his friend's skin and only vaguely registers the sound of the alarms. 

When the last needle slides out of Lee's back, Richard picks him up and carefully puts him over his shoulder. He flicks his wrist towards the device Lee spent God knows how long strapped to, and watches with dark satisfaction as the metal twists and curls in on itself until it is nothing more than an iron ball.

He turns and the tables part before him, legs screeching as they drag across the floor. James is nowhere to be seen, but he does notice that the door is back in place, and that several people in white coats are fruitlessly banging against it. 

The room is a treasure trove of cords and wires, and stringing the frantic scientists together requires less than ten seconds. Some of them cry, plead for mercy, while others observe him with fake calm. He ignores them, sends the last guard that comes rushing towards him flying, and lays his palm flat against the door.

Even James's superstrength is no match for him, and the door slowly but steadily gives way until he can step through it. James gapes at him on the other side, and twists his head to look through the gap. "Fuck me," he mutters.

"We're leaving." James just nods and lets Richard lead the way. The alarms are still going, but they encounter no resistance as they trace their way back to the building's main stairway. Lee's heart beats softly but steadily against his back and, little by little, his frenzy drains away. Which is regretful when they discover that the ground floor has acquired a dozen armed men since they last passed through.

James flattens himself back against the wall. "Can you handle them?" he hisses.

Richard dubiously shakes his head.

"I'll draw them off then, make a lot of noise and slam through the back wall. Once they start following me, you'll be free to find another way out." James gives him a hard, undecipherable look that fades into a cheeky grin. "Can't let you have all the fun."

"Be careful," Richard mutters right before the pillar closest to him shatters like a sheet of glass, then another a short distance away. He glances around the edge of the wall he's hiding behind, and watches as the guards begin to track James. He tries to help his teammate by causing the dust to billow, obscuring the guards' view and leaving them to rely only on the loud ruckus. Once all but three have left, he makes his move.

He sends the first guard crashing into one of his friends, and aims a particularly large brick at the third's head. After making sure they're unconscious, he heads for the front door.

It is still unlocked, just the way he left it, and he quietly slips through. There is no cover between him and the street. With one arm wrapped around Lee, he sprints away from the building, not stopping until he is obscured behind a few crates located some distance away. Lee is still out cold, and he realizes with a sudden lurch that he can't use his bike with the state his friend is in. The noise from his earpiece suggests that James is still leading the enemy on a merry chase, which means he won't be able to avail him of his car, either.

Just as he has made up his mind to try his first carjacking and face James's inevitable wrath later, a familiar vehicle skids to a halt next to him. He rips open the rear passenger door, and manoeuvres himself and Lee inside. Graham barely waits for him to close the door before speeding off.

It takes a few minutes for Richard to arrange them in a comfortable position. He ends up with Lee's head and torso settled on his lap, and he presses his fingers gently to Lee's neck. The pulse is irregular, but strong enough that it shouldn't be cause for immediate worry. Graham keeps shooting him concerned looks through the rear-view mirror, but Richard ignores it for the moment and punches James's number on his pad.

"Bit busy," James pants.

"Where are you? I'm coming to help."

"No need, just a few stragglers left. Freefall is en route anyway, it won't take him long. How is he?"

Richard looks down at Lee. "Alive."

"Thank God for that."

"Isn't Freefall supposed to be monitoring the riot?"

James makes a sound that resembles a chuckle. "I guess you really were out of it. He called while you were having your maniacal episode. Whatever was affecting the people suddenly just stopped."

"He disabled the satellite?" Lee stirs fretfully, and Richard gently strokes his hand along Lee's face and over his hair until the small frown lines fade away.

"Couldn't crack it, he said. Must've been all the equipment you wrecked."

He tries to remember what exactly he did in that horrible lab, but most of the apparatus he saw looked like the sort of things used in hospitals, not the machinery needed to cause a cross-section of the population to lose their free will. There was that separate area, however -- a glass window to allow them to observe what happened within the lab, while controlling it from a safe distance.

A horrible suspicion begins to form, and he has to close his eyes and take a few deep breaths when the car begins to rattle dangerously.

"Richard," Graham says, a thread of fear audible beneath the calm facade.

"I know," Richard bites out through grit teeth.

"You lot all right?"

He lets the rest of his anger go on the next exhale. "Fine. Don't let them get a punch in."

"As if," James scoffs. Richard disconnects with a faint smile, and switches to the open channel.

"This is Poltergeist. I have the White King. Heading to the Carrock." He waits for the whooping and relieved expletives to die down, and meets Graham's gaze in the mirror. "Requesting permission to allow a civilian inside the Carrock."

That shuts everyone up very quickly. For once, he doesn't care that there is a hint of belligerence in his tone.

Aidan is the first to break the silence. "If this is the bloke that helped you find our King, then I don't have a problem with it."

It causes a different sort of uproar.

"Wait, why did nobody fucking think to tell the rest of us?"

"Since when are we involving civilians?"

"I knew there was a guy!"

"I will take full responsibility," Richard says, trying to make himself heard above the arguing. "He has my complete trust."

"The White King's safety must take precedence," Ian says. "I think an exception can be made today."

Richard is about to thank him when nails suddenly dig into his arm with surprising strength. "It's all right," he soothes, "you're fine now." He ignores the renewed chatter in his ear.

Lee stops trying to claw his arm off, but the force of his grip doesn't lessen. "Luke," he mutters before a coughing fit overwhelms him. Richard adjusts his hold on Lee so that he is at least mostly upright, and waits for his breathing to return to normal.

"Luke is fine. He doesn't even realize you were missing." 

"No, it's--" The next attack is even more severe, and Lee is left shaking by the end of it, panting harshly. There's a trickle of blood flowing down his cracked lip, and Richard's heart seizes with fear. "It's him, he did it," Lee finally manages to gasp out. "Drugs, I don't--"

"Calm down," Richard orders, and rubs Lee's back in circles until he grows still.

Right then. First things first.

He manages to retrieve his phone with some difficulty, and quickly types the Carrock's coordinates into the map application before handing it to Graham. Graham takes it with a nod, and Richard turns his attention to his teammates.

"Freefall, can you track Luke Evans's location now?"

"Do I still have a phone on me?" Richard can almost hear him rolling his eyes. "Is the King asking for him?"

"He's our culprit."

"Freefall, those coordinates are mine." The rage in Evangeline's voice mirrors his own. 

"I'm coming with you," Martin says.

"The rest of us will meet you at the Carrock."

"Our ETA is..." He lifts his head, and Graham mouths the answer. "Seven minutes, hopefully. Poltergeist out."

"So that's your moniker," Graham remarks after he hangs up. There's an excited glint in his eyes and amusement in his voice, and Richard's lips twitch. "Sounds intimidating."

"Are you implying I'm not?" Richard retorts. 

Graham laughs softly. A twitch against his chest makes him look down at Lee's ghost of a smile.

He brushes a stray lock of brown hair away from Lee's clammy forehead. "Oh, I see. Is this how it'll be from now on? As if one of you mocking me wasn't enough."

"With love," Lee mumbles, echoing the sentiment in Graham's clear eyes, and Richard lets himself be suffused with the sudden onslaught of emotion.

It feels surprisingly like home.

* * *

The Carrock is not at all what Graham expects. It is situated on the edge of the city, in a nondescript neighbourhood, surrounded by other nondescript houses in a nondescript street. The only thing setting it apart from the rest is the sophisticated electronic lock hidden by the front door. Richard sets the White King on his feet and keeps an arm wrapped around his waist as he types in the code. He looks at Graham, and nods his head slightly towards his friend's other side. 

The White King stumbles on his feet within their grasp, but they do manage to make it past the front door without anyone falling. And that's when Graham decides he must be dreaming.

"Would you mind?" Richard asks, jerking his thumb at a set of two wheelchairs placed against a nearby wall. Graham lingers to make sure Richard has a firm hold on the White King, and then tries very hard not to stare like a wide-eyed child as he unfolds the wheelchair and pushes it towards them. He trails behind the pair as Richard efficiently takes them through well-equipped rooms and corridors, each more awe-inspiring than the next. There is at least one small operating theatre, a medical laboratory, and recovery rooms that almost look more comfortable than his own bedroom. It appears to be a fully functioning clinic, hidden entirely behind the facade of a boring, suburban house.

"Is there a doctor here, too?"

"We've all had basic emergency training," Richard informs him as they finally arrive in a room that appears to house an MRI scanner (if scanners come from a different universe -- it looks nothing like the ones Graham has seen). He shores the White King up, settles him on the bed, and sets about divesting the injured hero of the remainder of his clothes with an ease that tells Graham he's done it before. "Do you need help lying down?"

The White King shakes his head and carefully rests on the bed, not quite able to hide a wince as his back settles against the hard mattress.

"Is there anything I can do to help?"

"There's a first aid kit in that cupboard there." He follows the direction of Richard's pointed finger, and finds the aforementioned kit inside.

Kit, he says. It is heavy enough that he can feel the pull on his muscles.

He busies himself unpacking the contents of the case while Richard fiddles with the scanner. He didn't get a good look at the White King's injuries, but antiseptic and bandages will be needed at the very least. He puts the bottle of general-purpose antibiotics out as well, and looks around him for a source of clean, hot water.

There's a small sink nestled in one corner, with an electric kettle next to it. A little more digging leads him to the shelves holding a variety of metallic bowls and soft towels. He gathers his newfound bounty, and waits for the scan to be completed.

"I don't think there's any internal damage," Richard says. His shoulders sag, and Graham is aching to go to him and offer some tangible comfort. But he stays where he is and waits until the White King is seated on the edge of the bed before pushing the convenient movable table towards them.

"I could handle his chest while you deal with his back," he suggests. Richard smiles, and they quietly set to work. It reminds him of the few times he had to patch Andy up after one of his private expeditions. He gentles his touch and slathers the dark bruises with salve. Most of the damage seems to be on Richard's side, so when Graham finishes he begins cutting strips of bandages. 

Between them, they have the White King's chest wrapped within ten minutes. "Vimmy should take a look at your scans just in case, but I think you'll recover just fine. Your throat has a few lacerations though, so you know what that means." 

The White King grimaces in a very un-king-like manner. "I hate those pills," he mutters.

"Nobody said anything about having to like them," Richard informs him, but Graham notices that he breaks the large tablet in half and adds one smaller pill before handing them over with a glass of water. "Let's get you settled."

He lets the White King pick out his preferred room. Graham has to bite his lip to keep a foolish grin off his face. He waits in the hallway, allowing them a little privacy, but it doesn't take long for Richard to step back out and softly close the door.

"He fell asleep," he explains. "The sedative acts very fast." Now that his work is done, Graham can see exhaustion start to creep in.

"Is there somewhere to sit down?" He puts a hand on Richard's shoulder, half afraid he may simply topple over.

"Through there." Graham nods, and tugs on Richard's arm in order to steer him towards the nearest couch. Richard isn't moving, however, and Graham turns back with a question upon his lips.

Richard just smiles and pulls him in closer, first by his hand and then by his collar when that comes within reach. An eager mouth brushes against his, arms twine around his neck, and Graham lets Richard's gravity reel him in. He pushes Richard against the wall and meets his hunger beat for beat. The edge of the mask scrapes against his chin, rough and abrasive, but it only fuels his intoxication.

Someone loudly clears a throat behind them, and Graham is yanked out of the kiss with a start.

"Oh, don't mind us," one of the four people observing them with various amounts of amusement fairly purrs.

"So this is your civilian?" The shortest offers his hand and firmly shakes Graham's. "I'm Firecracker."

"Graham. It's an honour to meet you."

Firecracker's smile turns into a sharp grin. "I like him already."

"Don't encourage him," one of the others says. Graham pegs him as the youngest. "He needs to get his head out of his arse, not further up. Freefall, nice to meet you. Thanks for helping us out today."

A light touch on his shoulder almost makes him jump. A young man with short, dark hair and sparse facial hair is giving him a leer. He's the only one without a mask. "Impressive," he says. Next to him, Richard buries his face in his hands. "You mind if I borrow him sometime?"

"Yes!" Richard hisses. Graham grins with delight.

The man sighs. "Pity. Call me if you're ever in the mood for something more exciting," he says with a wink. "My name's Illusion, but you can call me Orlando."

The thin man Graham remembers glimpsing near the abductors' base crosses his arms. "And I'm Vimmy, now do we have to keep standing here or do we get to check on the White King?"

"He's asleep, but I left his scans open for you on the laptop." Vimmy nods and heads to the MRI room with a cheeky little wave. "Where's Mesmer?"

"He took our new pet to the dungeon," Orlando says. He and Richard share a look that make the fine hairs on Graham's nape stand on edge.

"I hope you managed to bring him in without much trouble?" Richard asks, his tone suggesting it would make him very happy indeed if there'd been a lot of trouble.

"We may have delivered him to Mesmer a little the worse for wear," Firecracker answers cheerfully. "You know how it is, bloody irregular powers. Can't always control the burn degree."

Richard grin is sharp. "You're absolutely right."

It's almost disturbing enough to make Graham wonder if he'll ever adjust to this strange new life. But then Richard turns his head towards him, grin fading to something soft and a little shy, and he thinks it may just be worth it.

* * *

Ian calls a meeting three days later. Lee insists on coming along, against James's loud objections and Richard's softer pleas. But he's well on his way to recovery and entirely steady on his feet, and Richard has a feeling he would've walked to Ian's studio if they'd tried to keep him away. He does stay close by Lee's side, however -- just in case.

"I've spent the last two days in the company of Luke Evans," Ian begins. "He was quite talkative after a gentle nudge. And I'm afraid this incident goes much deeper than we realized."

It sounds like a tale so fantastical it could've come straight from one of Lee's conspiracy theories, or his (secret but extensive) science fiction collection. A covert organization, recruiting normal people to observe superheroes from close quarters and report back on their lives, their powers, their weaknesses, how to best exploit them. Wait for the appropriate time and, with the help of a drug cocktail, whisk the superhero off to their lab.

"This organization appears to take security and confidentiality very seriously, and even Luke did not know what would happen to Lee after he had fulfilled his role." His kind eyes seek out Lee's. "I think it is your turn to tell us what you remember."

Lee's stony expression betrays nothing. "Very little, actually. I was pretty out of it for the most part, but I did wake up once they started stabbing me with needles. Made it a bit harder for them after that, and I guess they couldn't pump me full of more drugs because they needed me lucid for their...experiment." Richard shifts closer and puts his hand within reach. Lee grabs it without a moment's hesitation. "I don't understand how it works, but I think they were channelling my power and using it somewhere else. I don't know what for."

It echoes what Richard already suspected, but a glance around the room shows him that most of his teammates hadn't made the connection yet. Aside from Ian, Aidan is the only one who looks unsurprised.

"They incited a riot on the east side. Evangeline was the only one not affected by it, so we did suspect it was some form of hormone manipulation." Lee nods, but Richard can feel the sudden tension thrumming through his body. 

He leans a little closer, and whispers, "Nobody was harmed." Lee slumps into him with a soft, pained sound. He suddenly feels eyes on them, and looks up to find Evangeline watching them with rapt attention.

_Or perhaps she's simply watching Lee_ , Richard muses as her eyes stray to his friend.

"I have arranged it so that Luke will forget his capture and little visit to our dungeon completely," Ian is saying. "But I did leave a subconscious suggestion that he should report any further dealings with this organization to us. As much as we would all like to see him disappear completely from our lives, I do believe having a spy in their midst will be profitable in the future. It may give us warning before they strike again." His eyes scan the serious faces around the room. "We must all be more careful from now on. They will be actively looking for more superheroes to use in their endeavours."

The next twenty minutes are spent discussing increased and improved security, and potential ideas for a pre-emptive offensive strike. Neither the subject of Graham nor Richard's sudden increase in power come up (although from the pointed looks he's given, Ian is clearly only biding his time), and he sighs with undisguised relief as the meeting draws to a close. Lee shoots him a fond smile.

"Let's pass by your flat so you can pack a bag," Richard suggests. "I'm not prepared to spend the next few weeks with you constantly complaining about my wardrobe."

Lee readily agrees. They're about to retrieve their coats when Evangeline walks up to them. Richard glances between them and clears his throat. "I'll fetch our coats," he says, and quickly makes himself scarce.

He lingers at the arch leading to the hallway. Evangeline seems to be speaking rapidly, her hands making agitated little gestures. Lee simply looks stoic, leaving him unable to guess at the topic of their conversation. But then Evangeline throws her arms around Lee, and after a moment of shock, Lee hugs her back. Richard glimpses a soft smile on Lee's face before he turns his head into Evangeline's tumbling brown locks. 

It's with a lighter heart that he gets their coats, and he doesn't say anything when it takes Lee another ten minutes to finally meet him at the door. He bites his tongue as they begin the short walk to Lee's soon to be former flat, but when Lee's lips turn up into a decidedly sappy smile, he can't stop himself from asking, "Does this mean there's finally some progress?"

Lee ducks his head, but Richard notices the light flush anyway. "She just wanted to make sure I was doing okay."

The fragile hope in his voice tells Richard all he needs to know.

* * *

Richard's new house guest puts the brakes on their budding relationship. Graham doesn't actually mind (much; Richard absolutely refuses to let him spend the night with someone else in his flat, and even though they only shared a bed once, Graham misses having the other man next to him), and finds surprising enjoyment in the simple things -- dinner, film nights and the occasional game board session. He even grows to enjoy Lee's ("You've already seen me half naked, I don't think there's much point in hiding my name anymore") company, and comes to the realization that they see eye to eye on many things. They both have a vested interest in Richard's continued happiness and well-being, for example. Lee doesn't seem convinced that Graham is the one to ensure that, but Graham feels fairly confident in his ability to change Lee's mind.

Eventually.

His certainty receives an unexpected blow during Scrabble, of all things.

Lee waits until Richard excuses himself to salvage dinner. "So, Graham," he begins cheerfully, "I'd say we've gotten to know each other pretty well now, don't you?"

The seemingly innocuous statement puts Graham on edge. "I'm glad to hear you say so," he carefully says.

"You're a pretty nice guy, although you do get vicious when it comes to games." Graham doesn't bother to hide his grin at that. "And I absolutely approve of your positive influence on Richard's costume choices. You have no idea how long I've tried to get him to change _something_."

"You're welcome, I think?"

The smile slips away and is replaced by a melancholic expression. "After my recent experiences, I guess I'm a little more suspicious of people's intentions. Being so stupidly blindsided in your own house really makes you think."

Graham shifts uncomfortably in his seat. "You can't blame yourself for what that tosser did," he gruffly says. "I think you're a cautious man, and I'm sure you took every possible precaution before inviting him into your life."

Lee sighs. "Still wasn't enough, though. Guess it just goes to show that you can't believe everything you see." His eyes take on a sharpness that seems to see right through Graham, down to his very essence. "I will definitely be _much_ more vigilant now. And not just for me, but for those I care about too. I just can't stand seeing any of them hurt, you know? Physically or _emotionally_. If anything happened, I'd have to take pretty drastic measures."

If Lee were anyone else, Graham would have laughed. But he has seen enough to know that Lee's lanky, pleasant exterior hides a steel core. Not someone to trifle with, or whose threats should be taken lightly.

Richard comes back before Graham has formulated a satisfactory response, and Lee instantly perks up, the picture of innocence and cheer, not a trace left of the manipulative bastard he just encountered. They finish the game without any further incidents, and Lee pleads exhaustion after dinner, finally leaving the two of them alone.

The door to Lee's bedroom is barely shut when Richard's hands push his shoulders back against his chair. His eyes gleam darkly with demands, and Graham tugs him down and slides his tongue between Richard's inviting lips without preamble. It takes very little to rile them both up these days, and Graham growls when Richard pulls away. Richard's smile is fond, his touch oddly gentle despite the rather insistent evidence of his arousal. Graham represses a sigh, and silently resigns himself to another night of only his fist for company.

A soft gust of breath wafts over his ear, followed by Richard's teasing tongue. "I'm taking a day off tomorrow," he murmurs.

"More flat hunting?" Graham chokes out, hands tightening on Richard's thighs.

"Yes, but Freefall is going with him instead. Their first appointment is at nine, and they've made arrangements with several different agents." It's hard to focus on Richard's words when his hand teasingly strokes over Graham's chest and further down, while completely skirting the area demanding its immediate attention. He nuzzles the skin behind Richard's ear, and Richard leans into it with a soft, happy sound.

It finally sinks in a few minutes later. "You're saying you'll be here, all alone, most of tomorrow." Richard looks a little dazed, but manages to nod. 

Graham grins and gives him a fierce kiss. "I am spending the night on the couch."

Richard's unfettered laugh is answer enough.

* * *

**FIN**

* * *

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not from the UK and have actually never visited (though I'd really like to), but I've done my best to conform to the language and terms used there. I hope I haven't made too many mistakes but if I have, I am truly sorry. Just let me know and I'll fix it! :)


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